Dark Blue
by not a loser
Summary: (AU; university, modern) Ciel Phantomhive is a music student at Oxford University who quickly finds himself as drawn to his mysterious professor as he is annoyed by his blonde classmate. Soon, he finds the past folding in on the present: what do they know? note: rewrites will be finished in the next few weeks and updates will resume! [crossposted on ao3 at /works/7523428]
1. Chapter 1

Ciel Phantomhive cried out as he awoke from a hot, choking nightmare.

It took him a moment to place his unfamiliar surroundings: he was in his shabby student flat. Today was his first day at Oxford.

He'd come out top in his exams and had always earned high marks in school—not to mention the grueling hours of practice he spent with his violin, a result of his aunt's stern expectations and his own competitive nature—but he couldn't help but feel a little in awe. Somehow, he'd never pictured himself here.

The soles of his expensive black loafers clacked against the floor of the music building, his footsteps echoing through the hallway and mingling with the quiet, discordant plucking of a handful of string instruments. Pushing through a set of double doors towards the source of the sounds, Ciel entered the wide orchestra room. Though class wasn't set to begin for another fifteen minutes, a good number of students were scattered throughout the room, each focusing on their own instrument as they warmed up or squeezed in a few extra minutes of sight-reading.

Since it was the first day of class, chairs had not yet been assigned. Ciel took a seat in the first row of the violin section, unpacking his treasured instrument from its plush case of deep blue velvet. Carefully, he ran his bow over the strings, shifting his hands through various fingerings. As he warmed up, more students began to trickle in. Ciel noticed that few violinists chose to sit in the front row; out of some misplaced sense of modesty, he assumed.

At five minutes to nine, a slim blonde boy sauntered in and flopped himself into the first chair, which had been nervously left empty. Despite the crisp September air, he wore daringly short shorts, topped with a white button-down and a plum-colored blazer. He crossed his long, white legs, bare from the hem of black shorts to the tops of tightly laced black boots, and extracted his violin from its scuffed case. As he made a show of shifting his instrument into position, he fixed his large, sky-blue eyes on Ciel. His full, pale-pink lips curved up in some faint amusement.

Ignoring the prickling sensation of eyes upon him, Ciel retrieved a notebook, a leather-bound planner, and a pen from his bag, settling the items on his lap. He stole a quick glance at the haughty blonde relaxing easily in the first chair, violin set carelessly at his crossed ankles. He had the end of a pen between his lips, chewing it viciously as he surveyed the room. Ciel was instantly both fascinated and repulsed by him.

The room fell quiet as the professor swept in from a single door at the rear of the room. He strode up the aisle, shoes tapping commandingly on the linoleum floor. He positioned himself behind a heavy wooden podium on the dais at the front of the room.

"Good morning. I am Sebastian Michaelis," the man said to the silent group of students. He held their attention completely; not a single student was checking their phone, whispering, or looking at a book held surreptitiously in a lap.

"I'd like to go over the syllabus before we sign up for auditions," he continued, pulling a neat stack of sheets from a cognac-colored satchel resting against the podium. He stepped down, passing the papers to the blonde boy in the first chair to be distributed around the room. Shortly, Ciel was passed a copy of the syllabus. He scanned it for what he considered to be the key points—grading scale, office hours, grade breakdown, and schedule. He listened idly, from the periphery of his senses, as the professor read through the document, while copying the important dates into his planner.

Ciel tried to listen for the next mind-numbing half hour as Professor Michaelis ran through the lengthy syllabus, but he couldn't resist the temptation to tune out. He scanned the room; while most of the students were making notes, or following along diplomatically, the blonde in first chair was unabashedly fiddling with his phone. He looked up, catching Ciel's eye, and smirked.

Ciel looked hastily away, re-focusing his gaze on the professor. He wore a smartly cut black suit, and a pair of wire-frame glasses hung on an old-fashioned silver chain. In stark contrast to these crisp, almost stuffy details, the man's raven hair hung in long, messy strands, and his nails were polished black. Curious, but then again, musicians tended to be nothing if not eccentric.

At long last, the syllabus ended, and Michaelis clapped his hands together. "Now then, sign-up for auditions. I have posted a schedule for each section on the bulletin board in my office; please sign up for a time as soon as you possibly can. Auditions will be held beginning tomorrow evening through next week, and results will be delivered three days after auditions close. Until then, we will be going through some brief history and theory."

The room erupted in shuffling, as the students shifted to take out notebooks and writing instruments. Diligently, Ciel flipped his crisp new notebook open to the first page, pressing the heavy tip of his pen against the blank paper. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the blonde in first chair hadn't moved at all; his legs were stretched out, still crossed at the ankle, cell phone resting easily in his lap. However, his eyes were trained on the professor, lips and brows quirked as if he'd heard an especially clever riddle.

For the next hour, Ciel took notes at random in his close, slanted cursive. He regretted taking a seat at the front of the room; if he thought he could have gotten away with it, he could have slept through the lecture.

Finally, they were dismissed; the blonde who'd taken first chair made an odd production of packing his things, as though he were auditioning for something. He smiled solicitously at the professor, approaching him as the rest of the students filtered out.

He annoyed Ciel on principle.

That afternoon, his classes ended for the day, Ciel approached Professor Michaelis's second-floor office in the music building. The door lay open, revealing a small office cramped with books on the built-in shelves covering the back wall. A pair of wing-back armchairs, covered in a delicate cream print, faced the large desk that commanded the room. Behind it sat Professor Michaelis, absorbed in some paperwork or other.

"Good afternoon, professor," said Ciel, as he entered the room.

"Ah, hello...I'm afraid I don't know your name yet," the professor replied with a smile, pausing in his scribblings and laying aside his pen.

"Phantomhive," Ciel supplied.

"Phantomhive," Michaelis repeated. "I'll remember that." Chestnut-colored eyes appraised Ciel steadily from behind wire frames. Uncharacteristically, Ciel felt itchy and uncomfortable under the weight of that gaze, lasting only a beat. Something about the professor's face was strange and familiar, and the inability to place it was bothering him.

"Hi, Professor Michaelis!" a lemony voice sang out, breaking the tension of the moment as both student and professor looked toward the figure waltzing through the door. He stopped, seeing Ciel. "Oh, it's you!" the boy exclaimed. Ciel could only stand mute, eyebrows arched high as he appraised the blonde from the first chair.

"Afternoon, Trancy," replied Professor Michalis pleasantly. "So you've met Phantomhive here?"

The boy called Trancy didn't reply, instead leaning towards Ciel. "Hey, why do you wear that eyepatch? Can I see?" He'd actually extended a hand, reaching for the simple black patch, before Ciel could register what was happening. He stumbled backward, flustered, his back crinkling against the schedules neatly pinned to the bulletin board.

"Trancy? Signing up for tryouts?" prompted Michaelis mildly, still seated behind his desk.

Trancy turned away from Ciel, who peeled himself off the wall. He felt a prickle of irritation; how did Michaelis know this boy's name?

"Right you are, professor," Trancy said, with a sunny smile. He reached into his bag, rummaging for a moment, then extracted a teeth-marked pen. He brushed past Ciel, bumping him cheekily with a hip, before leaning forward with an arched back to sign his name on the schedule. Satisfied, he strolled lightly from the room, waving to the professor from the wide doorframe.

Supremely irritated, Ciel turned towards the schedule. "Alois Trancy" had been scrawled into the final time slot in large, spiky script. Ciel entered his own name into a time slot three days away. Alois Trancy's time in the first chair would be short-lived. Ciel nodded to Michaelis as he left the small, cozy office.

"Good luck," said the professor, fixing that inscrutable gaze on Ciel once more.

"Thank you, sir," replied Ciel, dipping his head politely.

 _Game on,_ he thought.

* * *

A heavy knot of nervousness rode in Ciel's chest as he walked to the music building for his audition. The morning had dawned cool, bright, and breezy, the sky a brilliant blue. Ciel's arm was tired from the weight of his violin case, but the walk helped him to release some of his nervous energy. He switched the case to his left hand, running his aching fingers through his hair, before he pushed open the door to the music building.

The orchestra room was empty and silent as Ciel crossed it, entering one of the small, soundproof rehearsal rooms tucked in the rear left corner of the room. He closed the door behind him, before straightening to acknowledge Michaelis. "Good morning, sir."

"Phantomhive," he said. A new and nameless kind of anxiety rose in the back of Ciel's throat as he unpacked his violin, purposely avoiding the professor's gaze. He straightened, and Michaelis handed him a sheet of music.

"Sight read this piece. You have six minutes."

The piece looked terribly complicated, and Ciel's heart sunk. He gazed at the sheet of music for a solid thirty seconds before hardening his resolve and lifting his instrument into position. He began to read the notes, humming softly to himself to get a sense of the piece. Tentatively, he began to pick the notes out on his violin strings. A shaky melody began to form, and Ciel ran through the music again more smoothly.

"Time," Michaelis said quietly, eyes fixed not on the old-fashioned watch held in his right hand, but on Ciel.

A steely blue eye flicked up at the pronouncement. Ciel shifted slightly, strengthening his posture, before touching bow to strings. Briefly, he closed his eyes, riding the melody, trying to relax into the dipping and swelling of sound.

As the last note faded out, Ciel's eye bore steadily into Michaelis's. They stood in rich silence, a tingly and not altogether unpleasant sensation rising in the back of Ciel's scalp.

"Very good, " Michaelis finally murmured, turning his gaze down to the stand before him, which bore a thick folder, splayed open and spilling out papers.

Ciel smirked, his shoulders beginning to untie the knots they'd formed over the past three days. He packed his violin with aching fingers, his nerves singing with relief. "Thank you, sir," he said, nodding formally before exiting the rehearsal room.

 _Beat that, Alois Trancy._

A wave of satisfaction hit Ciel as he quickly scanned the sheet of paper taped to the left of the double doors leading to the orchestra room.

 _Violin_

 _1\. C. Phantomhive_

 _2\. A. Trancy_

 _3\. N. Watson_

 _..._

Ciel stopped reading. Even greater than the joy of earning first chair was the joy of beating out his smug blonde classmate. Heart fluttering, he pushed open the double doors and sat in his throne, the first chair. His fingers itched to begin playing; he'd had enough of history and theory.

As had become routine, Michaelis swept in through the back door, leaving a wave of silence in his wake.

"Good morning," he said, settling gracefully behind the podium. "Today, we're going to begin our first piece." Black-nailed hands withdrew a thick stack of pamphlets from his satchel before Michaelis stepped down and handed the booklets to Ciel.

Irresistibly, Ciel's eye flicked up to Professor Michaelis as he accepted the music sheets. He bit down firmly on his lower lip as auburn eyes met his over wire frames. He shifted his gaze to the blonde next to him, noting with joy Trancy's narrowed eyes, as he passed down the stack of leaflets.

Ciel's heart fluttered—the piece was Ralph Vaughn William's "Five Variants on Dives and Lazarus." A faint smile crept onto his face as he placed the music onto his stand, a thin film of memory blurring the pages.

"Take the next half hour to sight read. Work with the people around you; I will be going section to section."

Ciel pulled his violin into position, running through the notes with ease. His eyes became slightly unfocused as he allowed the emotion of the piece to flow through him. A sharp fingertip in his ribcage pulled him roughly from his haze. Alois Trancy's face was leaning toward his own.

"You already know this piece, don't you?" the blonde said, his voice low and nearly sensual.

Ciel glared heavily. "Do you need help, or what?"

Trancy slid his bow sharply across his strings in response, eyelids lowering flirtatiously.

"Yes, I know it," Ciel said irritably, before returning his eye to the music before him. Rich with longing, the notes tore themselves from his fingertips, and his eyes slid shut.

As Ciel came back into the world, he found Professor Michaelis before him. "Lovely," he said softly, before he turned to Trancy and nodded once, wordlessly. Something akin to hunger clouded his eyes, almost too large for their delicate frame, as he watched Michaelis wind his way through the section. At last, he turned toward the music on his stand, playing the notes with careless skill, a pouty frown settling into the corners of his mouth.

Ciel lifted his brows aristocratically as he finished the piece. Trancy played well, but he couldn't convey the emotion of the music; in short, a second chair to the core. Trancy turned, catching Ciel's eye and smirking. "What, see something you like?"

Ciel's nose crinkled lightly with distaste. He shook his head and turned toward his own music once more as Trancy dropped a mirthful wink towards him. _Let him play like a second chair,_ he thought. _It's not my problem to help him._

Ciel settled into his chair, elegantly holding himself upright and readjusting his violin. He turned to a particularly tricky section, playing through it again to smooth out any roughness. As Ciel began the section again, Michaelis loudly tapped the top of the podium with a slender black baton. The din of discordant instruments died down instantly, and those who'd spread out returned to their seats. All eyes turned toward the front of the room.

"Now, I'll be hearing from each section. Violins first, if you please." Michaelis lifted his hands elegantly, preparing to conduct. Everyone lifted their instruments into position, and they began to play. Ciel sank into the music, the orchestra room feeling blurry and far away.

As the last notes faded, Ciel's eye focused on the professor; blood rushed to his cheeks as he realized that Michaelis was looking back at him steadily, lips softly curved up. Ciel quickly shifted his gaze down to the floor. Trancy watched with a malicious smirk.

"Hot for teacher, are we?" Trancy whispered, his breath close and tickly in Ciel's ear. He squirmed away, glaring.

"Shut up."

He resumed his study of the floor through Michaelis's notes. He was embarrassed and surprised by the unexpected eye contact, that was all. At last, he moved on to the violas, and Ciel felt safe enough to look up again. Trancy had sprawled into a relaxed slouch, attention on the phone he'd pulled out as soon as Michaelis moved on to the next section. Ciel shifted his gaze back to Michaelis, studying him.

He was undeniably good-looking; Ciel was comfortable enough admitting that. More captivating, however, was the easy grace of his movements and the intensity of his unreadable gaze. Under its weight, Ciel felt a rare sense of self-consciousness that made him want to impress this man.

As Michaelis went through the next three sections, Ciel found his thoughts wandering and he began to fidget in the uncomfortable chair. Trancy glared and elbowed him sharply.

"Stop squirming, dimwit," he hissed.

Ciel made a sour face, pulling himself up straighter before settling down. Trancy returned to his phone. From his slightly higher vantage point, Ciel surreptitiously cast his glance down to the screen to see what had Trancy so fascinated. He had to hold back a snort; it looked like he was on a dating website or something of the sort.

Ciel pressed his lips together with repressed mirth and looked away. He returned to watching Professor Michaelis, giving his notes to the bass section; he paid no mind to Trancy's bold inattention or Ciel's restlessness, instead speaking in a velvety voice that radiated quiet authority. At last, he finished.

"That will be all for today," he said, turning his attention to a stack of papers on the podium as the class began to rise, murmuring and packing bags.

Ciel carefully packed his violin and reached for his bag. Accidentally grabbing the bottom, he dumped its contents onto the floor. He groaned and swore as books, papers, pens, an empty thermos, and sweets wrappers slid away on the linoleum. Ciel sank to his hands and knees, collecting his things and feeling faintly embarrassed at the amount of rubbish he'd been carrying. As he reached for his history book, a shiny black boot stepped down on it.

Ciel looked up to its owner. Trancy smiled with cruel glee, then flicked his foot to send the book spinning toward the dais at the front of the room.

"Let me get that," he said, prancing over to the book. He bent over slowly, flirtatiously, arse towards Michaelis. The man ignored him, however, making notes on the podium. Trancy straightened, sauntering back towards Ciel and tossing the book at him roughly before scooping up his own things and sweeping out of the room. Apparently, he was unsatisfied with the results of his little manoeuver.

Ciel caught it clumsily, supremely annoyed, before he tucked it in his bag. He attempted to tidy it, sorting and straightening the loose papers and setting aside the bits of rubbish to toss out as he left the room. Finishing his task, Ciel straightened and collected his bag and violin case, turning to leave the now-empty room.

"Phantomhive."

Ciel started; he hadn't realized Michaelis was still in the room. He spun around to face his professor. "Sir?"

"You almost forgot your book," he said, holding up Ciel's paperback copy of _Demons_.

Ciel could have sworn he'd put it back in his bag, but he must have forgotten it under a chair. "Thank you, sir," he said, reaching to accept it. As their hands met on the book, Michaelis softly trailed his index finger along Ciel's.

A wave of adrenaline crashed through him, and he pulled away, heart thudding. He felt as though his whole body was burning, set aflame by that tiny point of contact. His cheeks burned uncontrollably. He stared at Michaelis, single lapis eye wide. The professor met his gaze steadily with an unreadable smile.

Ciel stood in stunned silence for a frozen moment, clutching the book to his fluttering chest. Unable to summon words, he gave Michaelis a nod and fled the room. Flickering mahogany eyes followed him.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **i. I know the whole "touching hands while handing over an object" bit is rather played out, but I liked the gesture of deliberately brushing an index finger along another persons. There's a scene in** _ **Silence of the Lambs**_ **where Hannibal Lecter does this through the bars of his cell while handing over a case file to FBI student Clarice Starling. I always found this moment extremely striking; such deliberate, gentle contact from someone so inherently frightening gives me chills. I wanted to capture a little bit of that kind of dynamic between Ciel and Sebastian.**

 **ii. Ciel is reading Dostoyevsky's** _ **Demons**_ **. I get the impression that he would be able to keep up with the lengthy cast of characters (and their exhausting Russian names!) and the intricate, political details, while also feeling somewhat contemptuous and superior of their struggles and feelings. And, of course, I couldn't resist the title.**


	2. Chapter 2

Ciel was hopelessly distracted. His heart continued to pound as he walked down the sidewalk, his steps rushed with nervous electricity. He clutched his book with sweaty hands, the phantom of Michaelis's touch replaying itself on his finger over and over. He simply didn't know what to make of it.

Admittedly, Ciel had no experience with these sorts of things; he was generally uncomfortable being touched, and was close only to his aunt and cousin. He'd become terribly flustered and embarrassed on the handful of occasions he'd been hit on at a bar or one of his aunt's social gatherings.

Was he being hit on? This time, he wasn't sure; he certainly felt worked up enough. But Michaelis had been silent, and his face had seemed nothing but quietly amused. Ciel couldn't understand what it had meant.

Moreover, he was bewildered by his own reaction. He...hadn't hated it. It had mostly been shock that propelled him away, rather than the usual instinctive discomfort that came with unfamiliar touch. As the fierce pounding of his heart began to ease back to its usual tempo and the cool September air soothed his burning cheeks, the utter surprise that had taken him fell away, leaving a soft warmth.

He liked and respected his orchestra professor; that was why he didn't mind being touched by him, Ciel reasoned. Trancy's whispered insinuation had wormed its way into his brain and bubbled to the surface in his confusion. Now that he'd calmed down, he could see things more reasonably. Trancy had just been projecting on him, and Ciel had just been surprised.

 _Not that he isn't attractive,_ Ciel found himself thinking as he entered the building that housed his history class. He took a seat, only half-aware of the world around him. _It's just that it didn't mean anything. He didn't mean anything by it, and my reaction didn't mean anything._

He extracted a notebook and pen from his now-organized bag, opening to a fresh page and holding a pen loosely in his right hand. He settled his cheek against the backs of his fingers, glazed eye fixed on the professor. The earlier surge of adrenaline had left him feeling drained. He daydreamed about going home for a cup of coffee and a piece of cake after class ended.

Unconsciously, he brushed the side of his index finger against his lips.

Ciel studied himself in the full-length mirror as he stripped off his pajamas. A pale, slender frame emerged from the oversized white shirt and burgundy boxers he'd slept in, and he paused before reaching for the outfit he'd selected for the day—bottle-green corduroys with a white oxford and a navy cardigan.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he trailed his fingers over his shoulder and down his arm, guiltily imagining how it might feel if it were Michaelis's fingertips on his skin. As he dressed, he felt the man's imaginary touch everywhere; brushing his hips as he pulled on his trousers, whispering against his chest as he buttoned his shirt, raking through his hair as he tied the strings of his eyepatch in a neat bow.

He'd been doing this for weeks now, hopelessly imagining every light touch against his body as the professor. He'd grown to crave the warmth of physical contact, that insubstantial and distinctly non-familial brush of skin on skin igniting something persistent and strange within him.

For his part, the professor had been acting perfectly normal as they began to work through the piece as a group, along with a handful of graduate students on harps. Other than the occasional rich gaze or quiet compliment to his playing, Michaelis had mostly ignored Ciel; though, reassuringly, he also ignored Trancy, who continued to bat his eyelashes and touch his lips flirtatiously every chance he got.

Pulling on his coat, Ciel scooped up his bag and violin case, shifting his thermos of Assam from hand to hand. The morning was grey and chilly, and Ciel leaned into the steamy tea as he walked to the music building.

The sudden warmth of the heated building after the cold walk burned Ciel's cheeks pink, and he dropped his things and shrugged off his coat as soon as he was inside, before heading for the classroom. A handful of students were standing around the double doors; frowning, Ciel approached them, standing on tiptoes to read the notice taped to the left door.

 _Class cancelled today. Normal hours will be resumed on Monday. I apologise for any inconvenience._

— _Professor Michaelis_

Ciel's heart sunk, and he felt his shoulders sag down. He hadn't realized how much he'd been wanting to see his professor, even if nothing happened.

"Aww, do you miss him?" A teasing voice asked from behind him, followed by the warmth and weight of a body much too close for Ciel's liking. He turned to leave, but Trancy was in his way.

"And you looked so pretty today, too," Trancy said in a mock-pouty voice, betrayed by his gleeful expression. He wound a finger into a blue-black strand of Ciel's hair.

"Get off of me!" he cried angrily, slapping Trancy's hand away and shoving past him. Trancy's laughter faded as Ciel stormed from the building, running his fingers through his hair roughly as if to dislodge some contamination left by Trancy's touch.

He arrived at the history building; his class wasn't scheduled to begin for another hour and a half, but he figured it would be a waste of time to go home. He settled into one of the armchairs dotting the lobby, extracted his novel, and began to read.

* * *

The day passed slowly, and Ciel was restless and irritable by the time he'd finished his classes and schoolwork. He stood from his desk and stretched before pulling on his coat, tucking his wallet, keys, and phone into the pockets. As an afterthought, he rummaged through his bag and extracted _Demons_ before walking out the door.

Ciel walked out into the faded evening light, heading for the bar a few blocks from his dormitory. Though not much of a drinker, he'd loved the bar near his home; the dark wood, sultry jazz, and comfortable leather chairs scattered throughout had been ideal for unwinding from a difficult day. He'd gone with his aunt since he was sixteen; she'd been friendly with the staff and her demeanor was intimidating enough that no questions had been asked. Mostly, he'd just enjoyed the atmosphere, sipping the occasional glass of red wine, but as he'd gotten older he would periodically go alone to escape his cousin Lizzy's drama or his aunt Francis's stern expectations.

This particular establishment offered Ciel a watered-down version of the comfort he felt at home; though the room was artfully distributed throughout with large, mismatched couches, chairs, and tables, and the wide oak bar gleamed under gas light fixtures, it felt too new and contrived. For how bothered he felt, however, it would do perfectly. Ciel ordered a glass of expensive cabernet, wanting to soften the sharp edges of irritation, and settled down in a relatively well-lit armchair.

Two glasses of wine had been gradually emptied and the Friday night crowd had filtered in before Ciel heard the chair next to him creak with the weight of someone leaning toward him.

"What are you reading?" a sticky amber voice asked.

Ciel looked up from his book; he hadn't been paying much attention anyway, and the wine had taken its toll on him. He closed his book, marking the page carefully, and looked up. "Dostoevsky," he replied, his voice several degrees warmer than it would have been unfettered by alcohol.

" _Crime and Punishment_?" his new companion asked. Rich brown eyes met his, peering around messy, longish black hair. His skin was smooth and pale, and his face was symmetrical and handsome. _Not bad,_ Ciel thought, his lips twitching faintly.

" _Demons_ ," he replied.

An elegant eyebrow quirked. "Light reading?"

His angular features sent a faint pang through Ciel, who lowered his lids gently in response. "And what would you consider light reading?"

The man in the chair next to him leaned a cheek into a hand, his elbow propped up on the armrest as he leaned closer to Ciel. His voice was friendly, lightly teasing. "Why not just read a phonebook?"

The alcohol traced a smile onto Ciel's lips, and he followed suit, propping his cheek against the backs of his fingers as he leaned in closer.

"I'm Joshua," the man said.

"Ciel Phantomhive."

"Cool name," Joshua said, his smile widening.

Ciel closed his eyes haughtily in acknowledgement.

"So do you normally come to bars to read?" Joshua asked.

"I had a long day, and I needed to get out," Ciel replied. Over Joshua's shoulder, he caught the bartender's eye and lifted his glass as a signal for another drink. "Excuse me for a moment."

Ciel rose and accepted a fresh glass, drifting back towards his chair on a heady current. Just before he reached his destination, however, a warm hand seized his wrist and pulled him down. Completely off-balance, he stumbled and fell gracelessly into Joshua's lap. He laughed with sweet, drunken joy and helped Ciel shift into a more comfortable position.

Weirdly, Ciel was reminded of Lizzy. She was so friendly and comfortable with people, and she thought nothing of physical contact that would leave Ciel's cheeks burning and palms sweating. He wondered how she would handle being pulled into a stranger's lap. She charmed everyone she met and always had the upper hand with people; maybe he could channel a little of that confidence.

Ciel's whole body prickled, and he sat stiffly over Joshua's legs. "You're lucky I didn't spill this all over you," he said stupidly, overwhelmed with confusing sensation. He drained the glass in a series of increasingly desperate gulps as Joshua's hands trailed gently over his back, rubbing gentle circles that burned through Ciel's clothing.

Apparently the bar for charm was much lower than he'd always thought.

Through a ringing haze, Joshua's features blurred together into a more familiar and more dangerous set. As Joshua leaned in, pressing his lips to Ciel's, Michaelis's face swam into view. Ciel surrendered to the other's mouth, which was flavored faintly with scotch. Joshua pulled away and leaned his forehead against Ciel's.

Ciel stared into the eye opposite his own, crystal blue meeting ruddy brown.

"You have lovely eyes," Ciel murmured, the words spilling from his mouth without his consent.

Joshua's hands settled themselves on Ciel's waist. "You too. Well, eye."

Ciel's face was completely still. "Are you going to ask about my eyepatch?"

Joshua lifted a hand, gently brushing Ciel's hair from his face and running his fingers through those bluish locks. "That seems rude," he said. "Besides, it doesn't really matter to me. I think you look perfect."

Joshua's fingers wound themselves into Ciel's hair and pulled his face closer for another kiss. Ciel relaxed into it, sucking lightly on Joshua's lower lip. This seemed to be the right thing to do, as Joshuas hands crept to the hem of Ciel's shirt and hesitatingly caressed his bare skin.

"Do you want to go someplace quieter?" Joshua asked as he released Ciel's mouth.

Ciel didn't know how to respond, instead meeting his eyes intensely. He did and he didn't want this. He needed something to happen. Wordlessly, Joshua poured Ciel from his lap and intertwined their fingers. He led Ciel towards the front door, pausing to help him into the coat he'd hung on the rack next to the entrance.

The streets passed in a blur as Joshua led him to a small public garden a short walk away. It was tucked away from the streetlamps and illuminated only by low fixtures along the winding, neatly-maintained path. Ciel floated behind Joshua, anchored by the hand in his, and they settled down on a bench beneath a picturesquely sprawling maple. Joshua wound an arm around Ciel's waist, pulling his relaxed form close. He leaned his head against Joshua's shoulder, instinctively cuddling up to the warmth of his body. Ciel's eyes drifted shut briefly before fingers trailed down his jaw, cupping his chin and pulling his face up for another kiss.

Ciel responded, allowing his lips to be eased open and a caressing tongue to engage his own. He was so tired. His arms were pulled in and pressed between their bodies, and he rested his hands awkwardly on Joshua's chest. The hand on Ciel's face crept into his hair, eliciting a tiny shiver of pleasure.

Apparently taking that as a sign of encouragement, Joshua pulled away from Ciel's mouth and began gently suckling his neck. A tiny moan escaped Ciel, and he tilted his head to allow more access to his throat.

"You are too cute," Joshua breathed into Ciel's ear, before gently nipping his earlobe.

Ciel felt a faraway surge of irritation at the endearment, but the noise of displeasure he hummed sounded more flirtatious than angry. Joshua laughed softly, shifting Ciel onto his lap so that he was straddling him. He pulled Ciel in for a deep kiss, and his cold hands drifted up Ciel's back beneath his clothes, the edge between pain and pleasure. Gentle fingernails sang against his skin as Joshua alternately tickled and rubbed his back, caressing every inch of skin as he worked his hands around and up to Ciel's chest. Ciel wiggled closer into Joshua's lap, grinding his own growing interest against Joshua's hard-on.

"Well, hello there," Joshua purred, his voice sparkling with arousal. His fingers slid down Ciel's stomach and gently cupped the bulge at the front of his trousers. Ciel let out a panting sigh and leaned his hips into the touch. The strained button and zipper were released, and trousers and boxers were wiggled down slightly before Joshua slipped in a hand to caress bare skin.

Ciel's head was spinning, and he opened his eyes and leaned back to focus on Joshua's face. Through the film of alcohol and the milky moonlight, the features were painfully familiar and terribly wrong. Ciel began to shake his head vigorously, wordlessly.

Joshua withdrew his hand, frowning. "What's wrong?"

Ciel lifted his hands, burying his face into them as he kept shaking his head.

"Hey, Ciel, are you okay?" A gentle hand on Ciel's pulled it from his eye, and Joshua's concerned face emerged behind it. The touch on his hand was too much to bear, and he yanked it away as he untangled himself from Joshua's lap and stumbled to his feet. He tore down the path towards the gate, Joshua calling behind him with baffled concern.

He ran for about a block, before settling down into a brisk walk, his breath heaving with exertion. Thankfully, he was able to catch his breath; though he hadn't had an asthma attack in years, he was terribly unused to running and he worried that it could be enough for his throat to constrict.

His skin tingled painfully all over, and he felt contaminated. It had been wrong, all wrong; drunk and lovesick, he'd thrown himself at some stranger and let him touch him and violate him just because he looked...like...

Ciel squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head once more. He just wanted to get back to his dormitory and take a hot shower, to wash away the mistakes burning through his skin into his core.

As the short walk back to his dormitory passed, the weight of the alcohol began to ease its grip, some of his angst ebbing with it, leaving only a tired disgust. As he entered his flat, he stopped to drink a large glass of water before heading for the bathroom and running the shower. While waiting for the water to heat up, he removed his eyepatch and laid it on the counter, then peeled off his clothes. After a moment's hesitation, he dropped them into the trash.

He stepped into the scalding spray, his chilled skin reddening quickly at the sudden temperature change. Using a bar of luxurious charcoal soap and a fluffy white washcloth, he scrubbed every inch of his skin raw. He struggled to wash as much of his back as he could, needing to clear it of the defiling touch. He washed his hair and face with the same determined care before he felt satisfactorily clean.

Before shutting off the water completely, he let it run cold for a moment. The icy shock of the water felt purifying and good, washing away the faint sheen of sweat that had risen on his face. He turned the tap off, and the last dregs of his night trickled down the drain.

Towelling himself off vigorously, he dressed in clean pajamas and collapsed into bed. He lay there for a moment, before pulling a spare pillow into his arms and cuddling into it.

In the twilight haze before sleep, the things hidden from daylight emerge, as the things that live in the sun fade away.

Like waves crashing together and collapsing in on themselves, he felt a warmth radiating from his index finger, his lips, his neck. Dreamily, his hand drifted downward.


	3. Chapter 3

Ciel slept in late on Saturday, dead to the world until a little past noon. He lay awake in bed for a few moments after he awoke, a sticky fatigue clinging to his temples. At last, he rousted himself, trying to ignore the painful memories that surfaced with wakefulness as he busied himself with his morning routine. He set a kettle to boil for tea, then slumped into a wooden chair at his small dining table. He lay his head down on the table, letting his eyes drift shut and his thoughts float away.

He was cut off from this tiny shred of peace by the harsh buzzing of his phone against wood. He snatched it up from the table, checking the display. Lizzy.

Ciel heaved an enormous sigh. Dealing with his bubbly, dramatic cousin was one of the last things Ciel wanted just then. But knowing the price for ignoring her would be worse than the pain of indulging her, he answered.

"Ciieeelll!" she cried, before he could even say "hello."

"Hello, Lizzy," he replied. Tiredness threatened to overwhelm his voice.

"How's university? How are your classes? Do you like your classmates? Are any of them cute?" she asked, brimming with joyful enthusiasm.

"Ugh, hardly," Ciel said, sandwiching the phone between his ear and shoulder as he rose and prepared tea. "The second chair is the worst. He's always throwing himself at the professor and he's an absolute prick." He described some of Trancy's more notable behaviors as he prepared a cup and resumed his seat at the table.

"That's not cute at all." Lizzy said, her voice mock-solemn. "But that's not really what I was asking. I meant, is there anyone you fancy?"

Ciel took a long sip of tea, heavily doctored with sugar and a splash of milk. "I'm not terribly interested in any of my classmates."

True enough; he had no idea what Joshua did with his time, and that had been a one-time mistake anyway. Michaelis wasn't a classmate, and Ciel had no intentions of voicing aloud his strange and pointless fascination. He hoped that if he ignored it as much as possible, he could will his interest in his music professor out of existence.

Lizzy giggled, a sweet, charming sound. "Oh, Ciel, you're too serious. You should be having fun! It's your first year of university!"

"Is that what you did?" Ciel asked with a hint of mirth. His cousin was so irresistibly happy with life; it was infectious.

"Oh, you know I don't care about boys, you silly thing! But I certainly enjoyed being able to dress up and take classes I was interested in."

Though bright, she often struggled with school, and Ciel suspected his family's wealth and his aunt's social connections may have helped Lizzy earn a place at such a prestigious university.

She seemed to be thriving; though only a second-year, she was already captain of the fencing team, and was apparently notorious across campus for her exuberant, over-the-top feminine apparel. She delighted in these absolute expressions of herself, and Ciel couldn't help but feel envious of the way she'd found such comfort so quickly.

"How are things this year?" he asked. He hated to talk on the phone for too long, but the more he gave Lizzy, the less she would hound him. As she burbled joyfully, Ciel set about ironing a handful of shirts and trousers he'd laundered a few days earlier. He supplied "mmm"s and "ahh"s where it seemed appropriate, his mind drifting farther and farther away as Lizzy talked.

His drunken adventure had forced him to admit that he was at least somewhat attracted to his professor; with this realization, that touch from weeks ago seemed painful, teasing.

With a sudden surge of annoyance, Ciel realized he'd left his book at the bar last night. It could easily be replaced, but it had his page marked. Besides, a trip back to the bar was just as easy as a trip to the bookstore or the wait to have it shipped.

He snapped back into focus on the conversation when he heard his name. Apparently, he'd fallen away completely, allowing a long silence to stretch out.

"Please try to be happy, okay, Ciel?" said his cousin gently, full of kindness and concern.

Ciel nodded, eyes squeezed shut. "I will."

"I love you," she said softly.

On his end, Ciel nodded again, though of course Lizzy couldn't see it. "Okay. I'll talk to you later."

She exhaled huffily, recovering in a fraction of a second. He never said it back, but he knew she couldn't help getting her hopes up each time she said it. "Bye, Ciel."

He hung up, sitting quietly for a moment before rising for another cup of tea. It was easy for someone beautiful and charming like Lizzy to talk about magically being happy, but Ciel carried sickness in his soul. Wherever Lizzy saw light, he saw darkness. More often than not, his gloomy predictions served him well; he was cautious and on his guard, and his expectations were usually met or exceeded.

He'd known ugliness Lizzy couldn't understand.

* * *

That evening, Ciel walked the few blocks to the bar to retrieve his book. The wind was unforgiving, and cut through the layers of his clothing with a sharp edge. He ducked gratefully indoors, leaving his coat on as he approached the bar.

"Hi, what can I get for you?" the bartender asked.

"No, I—" Ciel started. _Oh, what the hell_ , he thought. He was freezing and it was a Saturday night anyway. "Actually, I'll take a glass of the Hennessy Paradis."

The bartender nodded, taking Ciel's credit card and bustling to fill his order as Ciel seated himself at the bar. "Good taste for someone so young," he commented, setting the crystal tulip glass before Ciel.

He scowled at this, but held his tongue. "Also, I was here last night, and I left my book."

The bartender bent over, pulling something from an invisible shelf at the front of the bar, and then held up Ciel's copy of _Demons_. "This it?"

"Yes." Ciel reached for his book, laying it awkwardly across his lap since it wouldn't fit in any of his pockets.

The bartender gave him a final, polite nod, before busying himself elsewhere.

Ciel sat musing at the bar; he was tempted to move to a more comfortable chair and resume his reading as he sipped his cognac, but he was afraid he'd forget his book again and be forced to replay this scene once more. Instead, he tried to focus on the music filtering through the bars speakers. He jiggled a foot dangling loosely from a crossed leg, but was otherwise impassive. The atmosphere was so pleasant as he finished his first drink that he ordered another.

His face grew flushed as the cognac melted through his veins, and he stood to wriggle out of his coat while waiting for another glass. The lining of the sleeves caught on the buttons of his shirt cuffs, and he tugged awkwardly with arms trapped halfway round his back. His book slid to the floor with a papery slap, and he made a mental note to retrieve it as soon as he'd freed himself.

"Allow me," a lovely, deep purple voice said, as skillful hands began to extract Ciel from his garment.

He froze, a rabbit spotted by a hawk. "Professor?" he choked out. The coat slid easily from his arms in his comically incapacitated state.

"Evening, Phantomhive," Michaelis said easily, handing Ciel the nubby wool trench coat folded and draped neatly in his elegant hands.

A traitorous blush rose in Ciel's cheeks as his eye drank in his professor. "We missed you in class yesterday, sir," he said smoothly, hoping the moody lighting and his diplomatic bearing would serve to disguise his emotions.

Michaelis gently lifted his hand across to his heart, dipping his head slightly. "My deepest apologies," he said. Ciel couldn't decide if he detected sarcasm or not.

"Anyway, I just left my book here last night, so I came back to get it," Ciel said, holding up the novel that he'd spilled to the floor upon standing.

"You're just determined to lose it, aren't you," Michaelis said in a charming, humorous tone.

"Shut up," Ciel murmured, before quickly clapping his hands over his mouth. "Oh my god, sir, I'm so sorry, please..."

Michaelis looked terribly amused, waving a black-nailed hand at Ciel's apology.

Gulping down a desperate sip of cognac, Ciel found his voice once more, steady and formal. "How are you, sir?"

Michaelis smiled; to Ciel, it felt faintly predatory. "Wonderful," he said. It seemed he hadn't ordered a drink yet. "How are you, Phantomhive?"

Horrible discomfort urged Ciel towards his glass, but he didn't want to get drunk in front of his professor. In the end, he settled for holding it loosely in one hand."I'm well, thank you, sir."

Michaelis's eyes drifted lazily to Ciel's glass. "Hennesey Paradis," he said in rich tones. "A wonderful blend."

"Thank you, sir," said Ciel, eye fixed determinedly on his cognac. He felt uncharacteristically shy; the touches he'd imagined, coupled with last night's fiasco, were a bit too much in the face of such immediate personal contact.

There was a brief pause, and Ciel decided to make his escape. He slid from his tall leather perch, dropping the few inches his toes dangled above the ground. "Anyway, I got my book, so I should probably head out."

Michaelis looked like he wanted to laugh. "You had just ordered your drink, and you were taking off your coat when I arrived. Don't let me interrupt your evening."

Ciel stood, waffling helplessly between staying and fleeing. He didn't want his professor to think he was rude, but he felt painfully on edge in Michaelis's presence.

"No need to be shy," Michaelis said, in what Ciel supposed was a friendly, encouraging sort of voice. It made him feel all the more trapped; to leave now would be to admit shyness, and possibly reveal the interest he was developing in his professor. To stay, however...

Bolstered by prideful resolve, Ciel clambered back up onto his barstool. "Very well, then," he said, affecting a casual air, despite the cold sweat pooling under his arms.

Michaelis sat on the stool next to him, settling himself down with far more grace than was afforded by Ciel's considerably shorter legs.

"So, Phantomhive," Michaelis began, nothing but professional cordiality in his voice. "Enjoying classes so far?"

"Yes, sir." Ciel wrenched his gaze upward, concentrating all his years of refined upbringing into looking pleasantly neutral.

Though Ciel hadn't heard Michaelis order a drink, a glass had been set before him at some point. Michaelis's eyes burned in the low flame of the gas lamps as he lifted the glass of dark liquid to his lips. As it caught the light, it sparkled a deep red.

He made a small, contented noise as he replaced the glass on the gleaming dark wood of the bar. "You make a wonderful first chair." A quiet intensity underlay his polite tone. "You play with feeling, something few people your age have mastered."

Ciel's eye met Michaelis's, and his heart climbed into his throat and throbbed there. After a second, he swallowed his nervousness. "Thank you." he took a sip of cognac, then blushed. "Sir," he added hastily.

"So, Professor," Ciel said, trying to cover his slip-up. "When are we going to start working on our next piece?"

Michaelis took another sip of the red-black liquid. "Ah, I was actually planning to introduce it next class. In fact, I was hoping I'd get a chance to speak with you about it."

Ciel stared at Michaelis, and his some of his nervousness was forgotten as hope bubbled up in its place. He took a sip of cognac, waiting.

"We'll be doing 'The Lark Ascending;' I was going to ask you to perform the solo."

Ciel's heart soared. Usually, solos went to graduate students, or at least to the upper-levels. "The Lark Ascending" was a particularly solo-heavy piece, and Ciel would be carrying most of the performance. He was smugly pleased that his playing had warranted such an honor, and he was sure he could carry it out to perfection.

"I'd be honored, sir," Ciel finally replied, trying to sound humble and grateful.

Michaelis smiled in response, though his lids lowered slightly and the curve of his lips was slightly conspiratorial, as if he knew everything Ciel had been thinking. "Very good. I'm glad I got a chance to speak with you before announcing the piece."

Ciel closed his eyes and smiled into his glass, anticipating the tantrum Trancy would throw when he learned Ciel had been given such a prestigious solo—especially by the teacher whose attention he sought so desperately.

"Of course, I'll also be requesting that you attend additional lessons with me in the evenings."

Ciel nodded, setting down his glass. Nervous anticipation prickled over the tops of his shoulders and the back of his neck as he contemplated spending extra time alone with the professor he spent so much time thinking about.

If personal contact could no longer be avoided, then Ciel would have to give up fantasizing about the professor's touch. He would put it out of his mind; both that intriguing brush of fingers and the imagined caresses to Ciel's bare skin would be forgotten. From now on, as far as Ciel was concerned, Michaelis might as well be his aunt Francis.

Far away from his thoughts, Ciel heard Michaelis ask if Tuesday and Thursday evenings at six o'clock would be acceptable. Ciel came back fully into the conversation, having reached something of a resolution within himself. He nodded. "Yes, sir, that would be fine. Rehearsal rooms?" _Aunt Michaelis,_ he added in his mind.

"Yes, I think for now that would be fine." Michaelis took a long sip of his drink.

Ciel mirrored the action, draining the last of his cognac. "Well, thank you very much, sir. I'm really looking forward to working on this piece. However, I should really get going." Once again, Ciel clambered awkwardly from his barstool, suddenly feeling much tipsier as he stood.

Michaelis nodded. "Of course. Good night, Phantomhive."

Trying to disguise his slight swaying, Ciel pulled on his coat and collected his book from the bar. "Good night, Professor."

He felt the liquid warmth of Michaelis's eyes on him as he walked to the heavy, old-fashioned door. As he opened it and stepped out into the freezing velvet night, he did not look back at Michaelis.

If he had, he would have seen Michaelis watching him, trailing his tongue over lips curved into a wolfish smile.

* * *

 **A/N: i. At least at my old school, I used to regularly see my professors out and around town. It happened all the time in high school, too.**

 **ii. The nature of Ciel's injury is such that when he blinks, squinches his eyes shut, etc, both eyes perform the action; when he looks at something, however, he sees only with his un-patched eye. Thus, depending on the action, I will either say "eye" or "eyes."**

 **iii. I should add, I love and adore Lizzy, but I imagine that Ciel would find her a bit much at times.**

 **iv. By the way—Dives is pronounced with two syllables—DEE-vaze.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: "The Lark Ascending" is another piece by Ralph Vaughn Williams. It was originally the first piece I was going to have them work on, but since it is so solo-driven, I didn't think it would make sense to do it right off the bat. In fact, it's still a fairly unusual choice, but then again, Michaelis doesn't have the same motivations as most orchestra teachers. If you haven't listened to either of the pieces I've mentioned, I strongly recommend them.**

* * *

At 5:00 on Tuesday evening, Ciel splashed his face with the icy water that flowed from his bathroom sink. He assessed himself sternly in the mirror, the tips of his hair stuck together in bluish, dripping points. Meeting his own cold gaze, he summoned a feeling of bored, haughty numbness, imagining it flowing through his veins until he was a being of pure indifference.

 _Just an extra rehearsal,_ he told himself. _Just an extra rehearsal._

* * *

The day before, Michaelis had announced the new piece to the class, including Ciel's role as soloist. Despite the skewed workload, no one in the class had complained, and Ciel was grateful that they were willing to support him.

Trancy, however, had looked murderous at the pronouncement. "You?!" he exclaimed in an angry whisper to Ciel, turning to face him.

"I am first chair, after all," Ciel had replied, trying to keep the smugness from his voice.

"You're a fucking baby! How could he pick _you_?!"

"Yes, it does seem a bit unusual, doesn't it," Ciel had replied drolly. "Perhaps he's taken a special interest in me."

Trancy barked a derisive laugh. "Or maybe he thinks you're some kind of charity case and he's trying to be nice. Maybe he thinks you're retarded."

Ciel smiled wickedly, leaning the tiniest bit closer to Trancy and lowering his voice. "You know, I'll be meeting him twice a week for private rehearsals."

Ciel could feel jealousy and rage rolling off of Trancy like steam. "You and Michaelis both can kiss my arse," he said, reaching for his bag and rising as if to leave.

"If you leave now, he'll just replace you as second chair. You'd be lucky to even get a chair at all when you came back," Ciel said, more amused than ever, relaxing on his throne.

Trancy looked livid, and for a moment Ciel thought he really was going to leave. The rest of the class was ignoring them steadfastly, concentrating on their sight-reading.

Instead, Trancy collapsed back into his chair, throwing his bag back to the floor. He roughly tore the music on his stand open and yanked his violin from its case. "This is such bullshit," he spat. "The violin part is so boring."

"It'll sound lovely all together," said Ciel, rich condescension coloring his voice.

Trancy shot him a poisonous look. "Don't fucking speak to me again if you want to keep the eye you have left."

Smirking to himself, Ciel looked up to Michaelis, meandering through the room to offer assistance throughout the sight-reading. "Professor? May I use a rehearsal room to sight-read?"

Michaelis looked up at Ciel and nodded. "Leave the door open so you can hear when I call everyone to run through the piece together."

Ciel was in wonderfully high spirits as he crossed the room, his woes about Michaelis forgotten.

* * *

Now, in the face of his first private lesson, all his nerves had bubbled to the surface once more. Despite his determination to banish from his mind all unprofessional thoughts of his professor, he couldn't help the tight anticipation that rose in his chest when he considered being alone in a small room with Michaelis.

He knew nothing would―nothing _could_ —happen, but every time he let his mind wander, it ended up in the rehearsal room with Michaels. He wasn't sure what he was even wanting; he just felt the aching absence of Michaelis's skin against his and the quiet heat of a vague desire.

He lingered in the bathroom for a moment more, smoothing out his cream-colored v-neck sweater, worn over a deep green collared shirt, and tying on his eyepatch. The cold water he'd splashed on his face did little to clear his mind, and he found himself too nervous to eat anything before his lesson. As a precaution against later hunger, he stuffed a handful of sweets from his stash into the pockets of his dark jeans.

He left his small single apartment at a quarter after five, even though it usually only took him twenty minutes to walk to the music building. He was horribly antsy, and he figured he could just use the extra time to warm up.

The sun had only just begun to dip below the horizon, but the air already had a stern chill and the wind grated against Ciel's unprotected ears. He felt oddly light, carrying only his violin case, and it made him even more aware of where he was headed. He felt as if an electrified rod were being pressed against the center of his back; the skin was prickling and tightening painfully, and his muscles were knotted tightly.

The door to the music building was unlocked, but the front hall was dark. Fading evening light streamed in through the old-fashioned paneled windows, giving the familiar place a strange, forbidden feel. Ciel's footsteps seemed loud and oblivious as he made for the orchestra room, which he found to be unlocked as well.

The lights were on, and the large room lay empty and cavernous before him. Ciel stepped over the threshold, remembering the day he'd come to audition for his chair. It hadn't been that long ago, but it felt like a memory from a different life.

He crossed to the rehearsal rooms, only halfway surprised to see that Michaelis was already waiting in the rearmost one, door open and inviting. Ciel entered, and Michaelis looked up from whatever he'd been writing on the music stand and smiled.

"You're here early, professor," Ciel said by way of greeting, setting down his instrument case and removing his coat.

"Yes, I had a feeling you'd be early, too," Michaelis said mysteriously. Ciel looked up, shock written sweetly across his face, and Michaelis chuckled softly. "Only teasing you. My office has a window overlooking the front walk."

Ciel allowed a soft smile to ride his lips, and he unpacked his violin and music. "I had hoped to warm up for a few minutes before we began."

Michaelis allowed his eyelids to shut softly as he smiled gently and touched his right hand to his heart, dipping his head slightly in a gesture of apology. "Ah, forgive me. I must have been so eager to begin that I assumed you were, too."

"Oh, er, I mean, I am, I just..." Ciel stammered helplessly, his cheeks burning as Michaelis's eyes twinkled mischief and he realised the professor was teasing him again. He cast his gaze downward, focusing on the music he'd settled onto his stand, and gathered his composure. When he lifted his head to look again at Michaelis, all traces of embarrassment had been flushed from his features, and his voice was aristocratic and businesslike. "Well then, I suppose we might as well start."

Michaelis smiled graciously, allowing his student to recover from his fumbling awkwardness without comment. "Very good. I'll give you a few moments to warm up, since I so rudely deprived you of that time, and then I'll play through the first bit for you." Ciel nodded, holding his violin in a relaxed position in case he wanted to attempt a few of the notes. "If you'll excuse me while you're doing that, I have to go take care of something in my office." Michaelis gave Ciel a polite nod and exited the small rehearsal room.

Ciel hardly noticed, so lost was he already in the music. He'd clumsily sight-read a bit the day before, but he hadn't gotten much of a chance to really consider the piece. Studying the notes, he could see an artful shapeliness in the way they rose and fell on the page, though the analytical part of him was still cautiously aware that the piece would be difficult to master. However, he was sure that he would perform it perfectly.

He was grateful his aunt had seen this talent within him and encouraged it, pushing him to take extra lessons and play challenging pieces from a young age. Francis had a knack for seeing the potential in people; she'd done the same to nurture Lizzy's natural aptitude for fencing, and both her daughter and her nephew now shone in their fields.

Music suited him well; he'd always been content to sit back and watch Lizzy practice fencing with her older brother Edward—an Oxford graduate himself—rather than try to join in. He'd been energetic and playful as a child, but as he grew older he found himself preferring a leisurely walk in the gardens to a game of cricket, chess to fencing. Then, after he'd lost his parents and his aunt had taken him in, she'd introduced him to the violin.

"You can't just mope around the house," she'd said one sunny spring afternoon, six months after Ciel had come to her home. Ciel was curled in a large wingback chair in the dark parlor at the rear of the mansion, reading one of the dusty tomes from Francis's library. She'd eclipsed the lamplight, a formidable figure in her crisply tailored blouse and A-line skirt, forcing Ciel to look up from his book. He'd glared at her, his jaw set with childish anger, but his eyes were still hollow with grief.

She softened, a thrum of loss reverberating through her, and she uncrossed her folded arms and dropped to one knee before Ciel. Her face was closer to his eye level, and she gently reached over to close the book he'd been reading and take his hands in hers. "I know you're sad," she said quietly. "I'm sad, too. I loved your parents very much, and I know you lost more than I did."

Ciel's mask of anger quavered, shifting and melting into an expression of true sorrow. His heart ached terribly, and he looked into his aunt's eyes. They were the same caramelly brown as his father's had been.

She smoothed a hand over his hair. "But you can't give in to pain. You can't let it consume you, or it will take everything you have, until you don't feel anything anymore. If that's the case, you might as well be dead, too."

Tears ran silently down the child's face, and he hung his head. A strong, square hand gently lifted his chin to look him in the eye once more. "But you can use your pain. You can feel it, and know that you're alive." She reached for a large box on the ground next to her; Ciel hadn't noticed it before. "Here. I brought you a present."

Ciel slid from his chair to the floor, kneeling before the box. He looked up at Francis, who nodded, and he tore off the simple brown paper wrappings to reveal a hard black case. He unlatched it and swung the lid open to reveal a small violin on a bed of lush grey velvet. He lifted the instrument from its case wonderingly, turning it around to inspect it, before looking up again at his aunt.

She smiled softly; his face was now writ with mingled surprise and confused gratitude. "Use that, Ciel. Use it to sing your pain, and use it to find beauty in this world. Use it to say what you can only feel."

She stood then, smoothing her hands over her skirt. "I have a private instructor coming to the house for your first lesson on Thursday evening. Six o'clock." The soft intensity faded from her voice as she reassumed her usual demeanor. She strode from the room, leaving the broken child in her wake still clutching the violin with frozen surprise.

"Th...thank you," he finally choked out, the soft words barely reaching her as she walked through the open archway into the hallway.

Her back to Ciel, she paused for a fraction of a second as a sad smile touched her lips. Her eyes prickled with distant tears, but she pushed them away as she squared her shoulders and left, heels clacking on the marble floors.

Lost in memory, Ciel took in little of the music on the pages before him, and his eye was soft and dreamy when Michaelis re-entered the room. Azure flicked up at the sound of footsteps tapping across the linoleum, and the loosely-held violin was lowered. Sharpness bled back into that brilliant eye, and soon the soft, youthful innocence that filled Ciel's relaxed face was replaced with its usual impassive haughtiness.

"Well, now that it's actually six o'clock, shall we get started?" the professor asked, leaning over to unsnap his own violin case and extract a beautifully crafted antique instrument.

Ciel showed no traces of his earlier reverie. "Yes, sir."

Michaelis nodded, lifting his violin into place and touching his bow gently to the strings. A rich silence hung in the room for a moment, and he began to play. The sound was exquisite, and Ciel was entranced. His lips and hands seemed to prickle faintly as he noticed how very beautiful his professor looked when he played. He bit down hard on his lower lip, firmly reprimanding himself for such thoughts, and he forced his attention to the notes floating in the air.

Michaelis played only the first few minutes of the solo, before trailing his bow away and allowing the sound to dissipate. He lowered his instrument, and turned his attention to Ciel. The two men stood in silence for a moment, Ciel meeting his professor's eyes without the usual feeling of flustered embarrassment. Hearing him play seemed to stir up something new in Ciel, and he drank in those warm amber eyes with an intensity he could not name. It seemed to pulse through the air, loud and suffocating.

They stood like that for a moment that seemed quite long to Ciel, but couldn't have been longer than a few seconds. Ciel lifted his own violin and turned his gaze to the music before him, breaking the electric chain that seemed to connect them, and began to play.

His fingers were surer than he thought they'd be, and he felt as if he were watching himself from a distance as he moved mindlessly through the notes. After he finished the section, Michaelis nodded, and lifted his own violin once more to play the next few minutes.

They went on like that, wordlessly, through the whole piece, Ciel playing after Michaelis like a baby bird flapping awkwardly after its mother. Finally, Michaelis spoke aloud, instructing Ciel to play through a certain tricky bit.

He did so, Michaelis offering notes, playing the same few bars again and again until his professor was satisfied. Despite the mundane exchange, Ciel's chest was still full with the sight and sound of Michaelis's playing, and his limbs felt heavy with sensuality. Ciel was in a strange mood, raw and emotional, his memories and desires and Michaelis's beautiful playing bringing a rare softness to the surface.

They went on through the evening, the lesson appearing quite ordinary, but Ciel felt a deep, soft ache pulsing beneath his skin, a craving to be closer to this man. He didn't dare speak, afraid that his voice would come out as a husky whisper; he merely nodded at Michaelis's suggestions and attempted to put them into action.

At last, around eight, as Ciel began to droop with fatigue, Michaelis announced that they could conclude for the evening. "Good work, Phantomhive," he said. Ciel dipped his head graciously, but remained silent. "Awfully quiet this evening," Michaelis observed archly, raising his brows. The lines of his face were etched the tiniest bit harder than usual, and Ciel couldn't bear to see his displeasure. He swallowed hard and moistened his lips, trying to dispel the thick desire from his voice.

"My apologies, sir."

Michaelis's gaze bore heavily upon him, almost burgundy under the harsh fluorescents. "Something on your mind, perhaps?"

Ciel met his professor's eyes, but his focus seemed inward, and his eyes took on that faraway cast once more. "I was remembering...when I first learnt to play...and your playing reminded me..." he closed his eyes, smiling ruefully and shaking his head. "Very sorry, sir. I was distracted. It won't happen again."

Michaelis was silent, and in the damp tension, they looked steadily into each other's eyes. With each passing second, the atmosphere grew deeper and more sensual until it felt that they were on the edge of a precipice from which they could not return. Ciel's heartbeat sped up, thumping high in the back of his throat. He wished the two music stands weren't separating them, so he could will himself to take those few steps separating them.

He needed to get away from the painfully close impossibility of his professor. Tearing his eyes away from Michaelis, who remained motionless, Ciel painfully began to pack up his things to leave. He carefully avoided looking back at Michaelis as he turned to walk out of the rehearsal room. His hand was resting on the knob, and he'd opened his mouth to wish his professor a good night, when cool, slender fingers gripped his wrist and stayed his motion. His words turned into a whimper of surprise as he looked up and around to acknowledge their owner.

Michaelis's body heat was close, filling the thin layer of air that separated them, as he silently held Ciel's wrist hostage. His fingers brushed against skin soft and white as down, barely slipping under the cuffs of his coat and sweater. Ciel stood frozen, need and desire and fear racing through his veins and thrumming across his skin, the pounding of his heart dimly echoed by the aching throb between his legs.

He released the doorknob, and Michaelis's hand fell away as Ciel turned around to face his professor. Their bodies were centimeters, microns, oceans and galaxies away. Unbearably close, but still they did not touch. Ciel looked up at the taller man, lust and challenge written on his face as he begged for Michaelis to take his hand and leap from the precipice with him.

That one final push, to set off the irreversible chemical reaction, to do what could never be undone.

Adrenaline rushed through Ciel's body, one hard central push at his chest slamming the chemicals through his veins, as he closed his eyes and surrendered to lips that skimmed lightly against his own. At last, a warm weight settled against his body, as Michaelis pressed his himself against Ciel, pushing his back to the closed door.

"Tell me you want this," the older man murmured against Ciel's lips, his voice sure and steady as ever, but dripping with sensuality.

"I do," breathed Ciel, reaching up to wind his hands into Michaelis's black hair and pulling his professor in for a deep, hungry kiss. Hands roamed up Ciel's back, pulling him away from the door just enough to explore the soft warm skin hidden beneath layers of expensive clothing. Black nails trailed down Ciel's spine, the impossibly light sharpness eliciting a delightful tingling.

Riding a thoughtless wave of pure sensation, Ciel rocked his hips into Michaelis's, the crush of skin and fabric against his hardness sending another wave of adrenaline through his system. He pulled back to fling his coat off his shoulders and rip off the sweater he wore over his shirt, before winding himself into his professor once more.

He pressed his lips to Michaelis's roughly, kissing him with clumsy lust, while his hands roughly yanked up the professor's white collared shirt tucked neatly into black trousers. He groaned into the mouth against his as he discovered beautifully sculpted muscles and buttery soft skin against his exploring fingertips.

He began to undo the buttons of Michaelis's shirt, pressing his hardness against its match, wild and needy as a child romping about on his pillows. He wanted to sink his teeth into the soft throat before him, yank that silky dark hair until the older man cried out, consume his body completely until the insane fire within him was at last quenched. He fumbled the top button open, then another and another, before steady hands gently pried Ciel's desperate fingers away and the pulsing hot kiss grew soft and at last ceased.

Michaelis took a tiny step back, Ciel's hands falling away from his body completely, and took in the disheveled student before him. Eye wild and nearly black with hugely dilated pupils, hair out of place, half-undressed, and radiating confused lust. The older man disengaged himself completely, as gently as he could, restrained despite the evidence of his arousal.

"I think that's enough for tonight," he said firmly, though not unkindly. Ciel let out a frustrated noise in protest, but Michaelis held up a hand. His eyes were closed and he smiled softly, his voice tinged with regret. "You're young, and inexperienced, and caught up in the moment. I could not live with myself if I took advantage of you. I apologize for what has already transpired; I simply couldn't control myself when I should have. I hope you will forgive me for what I have done, and continue to think of me as your professor and your guide."

Ciel swallowed once, twice, hard. His voice was low and scratchy, but petulant. "Who says I'm inexperienced?"

Michaelis breathed a soft laugh through his nose and his lips curled with genuine mirth, but the gesture was overall regretful. "You are. And you don't know what you want."

Ciel narrowed his eyes angrily. "I'm not some fucking child. I know what I want, and I know what I'm doing. If you feel that you made a mistake, fine, but don't put it on me."

Michaelis looked at him hard, seeming torn. At last, he sighed, and shook his head. "The baser part of me wants to believe you, wants to do things to you, but I can see far enough to know better. You would regret anything that happened in the cold light of day, and I would be left with the scar of having done something unforgivable." Ciel seethed wordlessly, lust flowing seamlessly into hot passionate anger.

"Thursday," he managed. "Thursday. If, by Thursday, I still want this; if two days of dispassionate thought pass, and I still want this...will you..?"

Michaelis squeezed his eyes shut tight, leaning his head into a hand that clenched into his fringe and hid half of his face. "If you come to me on Thursday, and you still want me, I will be too weak to turn you away."

Ciel was irritated, confused, and still prickling with desire, but he could recognize a deal when he saw one. "Very well. If that's what it takes..." he paused, reaching for the handle and swinging the door wide open. He walked away, nodding briskly and speaking over his shoulder. "Then I'll see you on Thursday, professor."

At that, he briskly departed the room, the double doors crashing shut in a ruinous, echoey silence.


	5. Chapter 5

At 8:00 the following morning, Ciel's digital alarm blared loud and oblivious, yanking him from the blissful emptiness of sleep. His hand snaked out from under the covers and crammed down the "off" switch, and he sank back into oblivion.

A few minutes before 11:00, Ciel's sticky eyelids fluttered open, and he groaned at the hideous sunlight streaming in through the cheap window blinds. The exquisite pain of being alive settled down on him as soon as he was conscious. He had kissed his professor, and been turned down, and now he had to deal with this wretched, exhausting mess.

And he'd missed class.

He burrowed deeper into the covers, pulling his pillow over his head. What a complete, fucking disaster.

He hauled himself out of bed, washed his face and brushed his teeth, and dressed. He looked slightly dead, but it couldn't be helped. He decided not to try and rush off to his history class, instead sitting down for a leisurely breakfast and tea while he read his book, though the words didn't quite sink in. His mind was far away, soft strands of ebony hair and pale, slim, black-nailed fingers weaving their way into his thoughts.

At noon, he wolfed down a slice of cake from his small refrigerator, procured earlier that week from a local bakery, and headed for his French class. The October sky was hard and cold, a distant deep blue with a shimmering sun that provided little comfort from the autumn chill.

The brilliant, cheery light was a harsh contrast to the bitter darkness within him. Usually short-tempered, he was downright irascible all through the day, yanking his hair sharply and witholding a scream of irritation each time a classmate gave a wrong answer or spoke out of turn.

He stalked angrily from class, intent on going home and getting something to eat and possibly crawling beneath his covers for an undeserved afternoon nap. He grew more and more annoyed with each step.

 _I am a god damn adult._

 _I fucking know what I want. I know the difference better than most people._

 _Why the fuck would he start something he doesn't even want?_

 _Why doesn't he trust me?_

He threw open the door to his small, impersonal student flat, flinging himself onto his bed fully dressed. A halfhearted tear leaked from his unpatched eye, born of frustration and longing and the simple childishness of feeling completely overwhelmed.

His eyes slid closed, surrendering to the exhaustion of so much raw emotion in such a short time. He floated, half-conscious, thoughts and dreams dancing and blending on the dim periphery of his mind, until at last he fell away from the world completely into the black arms of sleep.

He awoke several hours later, his throat dry and aching. Eight o'clock; a strange, awkward hour, too late for dinner but too early to justifiably go to bed. Buoyed by swirling emotion, he rose like the dead from the grave, still dressed from the afternoon. He crammed his wallet, keys, and phone into his pockets, yanked on his coat, and strode confidently out the door.

His feet carried him to one of the few places he knew: the plush bar a few blocks from his residence. He sailed in and immediately ordered a bourbon, then another and another. He was feeling righteously sorry for himself as he sipped through his drinks in rapid succession, sinking deep into a plush leather chair and an increasingly foul mood.

Ciel staggered to the bar for bourbon number four, and despite his obvious drunkenness, his sharp condescension bordering on cruelty ensured that he obtained another. He returned to his warm leather nest, nursing his drink like a sick animal taking in fluids, occasionally fiddling with his phone but altogether drifting away.

He was floating, hazy, mellow, and silent, nearly nodding off in his chair, when a firm hand gripped his arm just above his elbow. His eyes flew open, but he felt trembly and unable to focus. "You should go home," a gentle, warm, inscrutable voice said. Ciel nodded docilely, hauling himself up and out of his chair. He wobbled to the door, artificially exhausted by alcohol, and began the stumbling march home.

The sharp reprimand of cold air against his flushed skin seemed faraway, as distantly painful as the foggy reality of the previous night. He ran ungloved fingers, white and icy, roughly through his hair. Though his senses were faint and dreamy, his thoughts felt strangely sharp and grounded.

Michaelis had been halfway right; Ciel wasn't quite ready to bare himself completely on the tired linoleum of rehearsal room number one, but he wasn't a child, either. His defiled body had no virginity to speak of, no honor to sully. He had found desire, ownership in the delicious evil press of his professor's body against his. After all these years of thinking that part of him had been irreparably broken, stolen away from him at such a young age, the wild desire of youth reared its head and threatened to devour him whole.

His soul and body ached, pulsing painfully in tandem as the clear sparkling sky spun around him. "Fucking take me," he slurred, giggling into the vast darkness as he spread his arms and attempted a clumsy ballerina spin that scraped his boots against the dirty sidewalk. Stumbling wildly, he wrapped his arms around his torso, crazed laughter diffusing out into the empty night. "Who the fuck even wants me," he murmured, giving away the punchline to his own joke.

As he shuffled home, impervious to the bitter night, careful auburn eyes tracked his movements from a distance, the muffled clack of leather oxfords lost to the stinging winds and the fluty haze of alcohol.

Ciel slept through his classes again on Thursday, awakening with a fierce headache and a sharply burning throat. He desperately gulped down glass after glass of lukewarm water from the tap and retreated back to bed for his tea and a slice of dry toast that threatened to reemerge every time he moved. He was sticky with a feverish sweat, and he stripped down to his boxers and lay atop his covers. Halfheartedly, he attempted to read, but his eyes kept fluttering shut. He settled for playing a classical music station on his phone and allowing his thoughts to drift.

Should he go to his private lesson tonight? He wasn't sure. He really did care about his solo, and he was intent on playing it perfectly, but he was terrified of what might happen with Michaelis. He'd implied that things might continue if Ciel still expressed interest on Thursday, but he'd been caught in the heat of the same moment he'd insisted had handicapped his student's thinking. Perhaps he had changed his mind, the brief distance of two days enough to bring to light the ridiculousness of being attracted to someone like Ciel.

He clicked a button on the side of his phone to check the time; 4:41—he couldn't help but note that he hadn't received any calls or messages all day—and slammed it back onto the cheap bedside table that bore his alarm clock, novel, a mess of sweets wrappers and papers, and a handful of dirty teacups.

He flung his arm over his eyes, reflecting dully in the back of his mind that it was almost evening and he hadn't worn his patch all day. He rolled over onto his side, white skin shining delicately over his ribs and softly curved legs in the late afternoon light. He faced the wall, curled protectively around himself, Dvorak's "Carnival Overture" blaring with grotesque humor in the background of his ugly thoughts.

Ciel wasn't sure if he still wanted Michaelis; the bitter hurt of being turned away had given rise to a cold anger that nearly eclipsed his more primal feelings. For most of his life, his wounded pride had been a strong motivator, rarely met by any real contest.

But this strange attraction to his professor was a serious challenge, not to be easily forgotten or trumped by the immense displeasure of being brushed off. Pathetically, he wanted to return to the one who had sent him away and beg for indulgence. If nothing else, he had the deep, instinctive desire to keep his appointments—his six o'clock lesson and the bizzare deadline he'd set for his own lust.

Feeling like a sack of rubbish given human thoughts and emotions, Ciel slimed out of bed and lurched over to the shower. He stood in the balmy spray for a long time before he began his ablutions proper, washing his hair and body with tender attention.

He squeezed his hair dry with a thick white towel, which he then tossed aside before fetching a fresh towel to lay on the foot of his bed.. Nude, he carefully arranged his damp locks into place, then perched on the towel on the edge of his bed and read a few pages of _Demons_ while he allowed his skin to air-dry. He slapped some lotion that smelled faintly of the sea onto his face, wrung more moisture from his hair, and dressed in crisp navy slacks and a pale lavender button-down.

He reached for his eyepatch and paused. He smiled humorlessly to himself; why hide? His face twisted in bitter satisfaction, the patch laying neglected on top of his dresser as he collected his shoes, coat, and violin case.

Just in case, he crammed it into his pocket.

Ciel felt horribly naked as he walked to the music building, despite the dimness of the cloudy evening and the emptiness of the path to the music building. His hand kept creeping up to cover his right eye, more to alleviate the bizarre sensation of air on skin than fear that someone would see him.

As expected, the building was unlocked and the orchestra room's lights were on. This time, however, the rehearsal room was empty, and Ciel busied himself arranging his music on the stand. He fingered the patch in his pocket nervously, unsure of whether or not he should don it before his professor arrived.

Feeling brash, he withdrew his hand and set about unpacking his violin so that he could warm up and forget about his eye. He hadn't arrived as early as last time, so he only managed about five minutes of playing before Michaelis's shoes clacked on the linoleum, announcing his arrival. Somewhat churlishly, Ciel continued to play, keeping his eyes on the music and his lids insistently lowered so that his professor could see his scar in its full glory.

He was hot and shivery with anticipation as he waited for Michaelis to react to him. Once Ciel was sure that his professor was in the room and had gotten a good look at the boy's almost flirtatiously lowered lids, he allowed the last notes to float away and he relaxed his instrument. At last he looked up, somewhat challengingly, a spiteful smile playing on his lips.

 _You kissed a wretch, a broken, marked thing. Would you still have this_ child?

Michaelis stood stock still, wordlessly, sadness and disgust and something Ciel couldn't identify playing across his classical features. Ciel's defiant, wicked smirk gradually melted into a more serious, pleading expression. He had shown his eye as a joke, a punishment for the one who'd sent him away for his "inexperience," but he found himself meaning the gesture differently as the silence stretched between them.

 _Please._

 _See me._

 _Am I enough?_

A wicked, puffy "x" trailed through Ciel's brow and down across upper and lower lids, which seemed to have been tugged strangely out of alignment where the mark passed through them; the lashes were sparse and downy where thick scar tissue choked their growth. The eye below the clumsy, painful mark was as blue and intelligent as its left counterpart, however, and both searched Michaelis's face desperately.

"Say something," he intoned softly.

"What are you doing?" Michaelis's voice was hard and flat, just on the other side of freezing, but the lines of his face were etched with pain and his eyes were soft and sad.

Feverish dread swept through Ciel, cold and wavering and nauseous. He fought to keep his voice steady. "I'm not a child, and I'm not inexperienced."

Crackling dead silence stretched out. Ciel swallowed, the ache lodged in his throat throbbing sharply, and he continued, addressing the linoleum. "I want you to know...how sure I am...that I know what I want...that I've paid for knowing what I want." He resisted the overpowering urge to hide his damaged eye behind one of his icy, sweating hands.

Ciel inhaled, long and shuddering, but his voice was surer than before and he looked back up, shimmering lapis meeting chestnut. "I know exactly how the fuck it feels to not want that."

Michaelis ran his hands through messy onyx hair, pulling one palm back down toward his face and crushing the heel of his and against his eye, while the other hand wove into the dark strands and pulled hard. His lids were squeezed shut, and he took a deep, hissing breath. "Why are you telling me this?" his eyes were still closed and his voice was still empty.

"Because," Ciel said, daring to take a step closer and tilting up his head slightly to address the taller man. "I want this. And I don't appreciate being sent away like I don't know the difference."

Michaelis had dropped his hands and leaned his head back, staring somewhat determinedly at the sound-diffuser panels on the ceiling. He said nothing.

"Do you not want me?" the boy's voice wavered the tiniest bit, and the beautiful statue before him cracked and broke. Michaelis blinked hard and looked down at his student, pained longing and concern softening his features. The young man before him seemed so sad, his anger and bravado fallen away and leaving only this heartbreaking insecurity.

Slim, elegant hands gently cupped Ciel's face, and the distance between them became only a thin cushion of air warmed by the heat of two bodies. "Yes," he breathed. "Yes. Phantomhive...Ciel. I do. I am so filled with awful, selfish desire that it takes everything I have to not indulge you. But I couldn't bear to be another scar." He pulled the boy close to him, burying his nose into soft, dark hair, petting and caressing it with the hand curled around those slim shoulders.

Under the overwhelming goodness of being held close to his professor was a wheeling, clawing terror that he was about to be turned away for good. This couldn't be the last time Michaelis—Sebastian—touched him. Ciel disentangled himself gently, urgently taking the hand that had been stroking his hair into both of his own. He spoke carefully, needing to make Sebastian understand.

"My parents died quite violently when I was young. Somehow, in the ensuing chaos, I slipped through the cracks; I was taken by someone—I don't know who they were or what they were planning—and one of them did this." He dropped his damaged right eyelid in a grotesque wink, before his lips turned up bitterly at the corners. "I spit in his eye."

The pads of Ciel's thumbs traced absent swirls on the smooth skin of Sebastian's hand as he spoke, as detached as if he were describing a bad dream. "Part of me thinks he was grateful to have a reason to be violent—more violent—with me. I just wonder if he saw that part of me, that ugliness in me, and if that's why he did it. Was he stooping to my level? Would he have—" here Ciel's gaze grew sharper, and he gave his professor a meaningful look to convey the words he was still too disgusted to say. "—if he'd thought I didn't understand what was happening? If I didn't even try to say no? If he'd thought I was some sweet, innocent kid?" Ciel's eyes had grown glazed and distant once more as he spoke to the hand in his. "I just mean...I haven't been. Not for a long time, or maybe ever." He shook his head, breathing a heavy, weary sigh. All of the emotion seemed to have leaked out of him during his rambling confession. "I don't want you to feel guilty, or think you're taking advantage of me."

He didn't know what he would do if Sebastian pushed him away again, and he didn't bother to think about it. Ciel just stared vacantly at the floor, dimly ruminating on the buzzing of the fluorescent lights that suddenly seemed so loud.

"I suppose you aren't a child," Sebastian murmured. He took his hand from the younger man's, whose arms fell spiritlessly to his sides, before resting it against Ciel's cheek and tilting up his face so their eyes met. Sebastian's other arm slid around the boy's waist, pulling him close. "But not because of that. I just need to be sure...you're not choosing brokenness." Crystal blue eyes narrowed, scar tissue pooling strangely on the right, and a small, pale hand curled against Michaelis's chest and began to push him away.

"Indulge me," the professor said gently, wrapping his other arm around Ciel and holding him tighter. "You are not irreparably broken. Certainly, you have lived through much more than most people, and your soul is older than your peers; but you are not your past. I don't want you to seek me out because you think there is no other future or happiness for you. If you choose this, knowing that there are other choices for you, I will trust you."

Sweet, singing relief flowed through Ciel at these words. He stood on tiptoe, bringing him almost to eye level with Sebastian. He wound his hands into the longish, messy strands, tilting Sebastian's head forward so their faces were centimeters apart. "Yes," he said, steely serious even as the tiny movement of his words brushed his lips against the other man's. "This is what I want."

Their lips met fiercely, crashing hot sensation, black nails raking roughly through deep bluish hair. Those clever fingers trailed quickly down, hastily undoing the buttons of Ciel's shirt and shoving it roughly off his shoulders. Sebastian pulled the boy close, exploring the newly exposed skin with greedy hands and barely checked nails while his mouth was fiercely attached to Ciel's neck. Sharp teeth bit down on the junction of throat and shoulder, sending tremors of pleasure through Ciel and a throb to his growing erection.

Their thighs were sandwiched together, evidence of Sebastian's returned interest hard against Ciel, as they resumed kissing and the professor's hand returned to the younger man's navy locks, tugging gently. The other hand was stroking the soft white skin of Ciel's stomach and hip, fingertips skimming along barely a millimeter below the waistband of his trousers.

Both of the older man's hands moved to press against his companion's back, crushing him closer and eliciting a breathy whine of arousal, before scraping up and down his spine with long black nails. The teen was hobbled by overwhelming sensation, and he mostly just rode the waves of this consuming lust, rather than attempting to do much himself. Tentatively, his hands crept forward, tugging Michaelis's shirt up, remembering that it was this gesture that had stopped things last time. He received only a small groan of encouragement, however, and he allowed himself to explore the skin beneath.

Following his professor's lead, he traced light, inscrutable shapes with his nails across the smoothly defined back below his hands, occasionally slipping his fingertips beneath the dark trousers and leather belt to caress a bit of skin held captive there. Black claws scraped harshly up Ciel's spine as the taller man arched into him and sank his teeth into the yielding softness of the teen's lower lip.

Without breaking the kiss, Sebastian's hands roamed down to Ciel's trousers, unfastening them with sure, practiced movements. The tugging slide of fabric over his hips pulled the navy-haired boy from his mindless lust, and he gently disengaged his lips and stayed the movements of the hands undressing him with his own.

"Not yet," he breathed. The man before him allowed himself to be stopped, his face a charming mixture of concern and deprivation. "I need a little more time." His eyes roamed the small, dingy room, the expression of hauteur quite becoming on his delicate, aristocratic features. "And certainly someplace a bit cleaner."

The professor softened, looking almost pleased that Ciel was asserting himself, but hunger still gleamed in his deep reddish eyes. He nodded, redoing the fastenings on the boy's trousers, and kissing him gently on the lips while tenderly smoothing his hands through his companion's navy hair. "Of course."

"I want the first time...that I choose...to be...nice..." Ciel said, blushing hotly as he bent over to retrieve his shirt and avoid Sebastian's eye. His professor actually smiled softly at this, the last of that primal desire faded from his features.

"I'm glad." he said, tenderly buttoning his student's shirt with nimble fingers.

"Sebastian?" Ciel tried tentatively, voicing the name aloud for the first time. He was relieved when the its owner merely looked up, waiting, leaving the last few buttons open as he abandoned his task. "We haven't rehearsed at all."

The boy's lips curled up cleverly, amused at his own simple observation. After a beat, his professor closed his eyes, shaking his head and laughing softly. "I suppose we haven't."

Still smirking, Ciel reached down for his violin. His shirt was still slightly open, his hair was in complete disarray, and his pupils hadn't quite shrunk back to normal. In this state, he lifted his instrument into position, teasingly awaiting instruction.

"Since you missed class on Wednesday," Michaelis said, indulging the boy's game with his own wicked smile, "perhaps I should keep you late."

 **A/N: i. Don't get me wrong, I love sweet lil babyface Ciel. However, for the sake of this story, I like to think of him as having a fundamentally strong personality and a feisty streak independent of what tragedies he's experienced.**

 **ii. By the way, I looked at a lot of really, really gross pictures when I was figuring out what happened to Ciel's eye. The internet is disgusting, and so is the world.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Just a warning, this chapter gets a bit graphic (and not in the fun way), so if you're not up for it, just skip the italicized bit and PM me for the relevant plot details therein.**

Ciel was in delightfully high spirits on Friday morning, a special place reserved in his heart for the absolute joy of not being hungover. The week seemed to have passed in a gross blur, emotion and alcohol taking a heavy toll on him. He was cheered by the state he'd left things with his professor last night; the lesson had indeed stretched quite late, as one or both of themselves found themselves quite unable to concentrate for long.

He was doubly cheered by the prospect of seeing Trancy and knowing he'd gotten what that wretched blonde seemed to want. The autumn sun shone brilliantly from the flawless October sky and danced on the fiery leaves. The air felt cool and refreshing, the perfect complement to the thermos of hot tea Ciel sipped as he strolled to the music building.

He paused before the front doors, drained the last of his drink in a long sip, and tucked the empty cup into his bag. Closing his eyes, he took a long, deep breath, held it, and exhaled slowly. He forced himself to clear his mind of everything that had transpired, to behave like a normal student.

Well, not quite normal. Ciel Phantomhive was, after all, exceptional.

He arranged his features into a facsimile of his usual cold blankness, directed his thoughts toward music, and entered the building.

All business, he settled himself down into the first chair, extracting his violin and carefully placing his music onto the stand before him. Though he usually got to class fairly early, the luxurious walk and the stop to collect his thoughts had cost time, and his blonde neighbor had already arrived.

Trancy's face was wicked as he watched the first chair prepare for class. "I missed you on Wednesday," he said, his voice mock-pouty and taunting. Ciel gave him a look of absolute disdain, barely moving his head and shifting his eyes to the side. Apparently even this served as encouragement, and Trancy spoke again. "Did you fuck up your _private lessons" —_ he spat the words bitterly— "that badly? Has he taken away your solo already?"

Genuine mirth warmed Ciel's features at this before he firmly shoved the memories of the previous evening to the back of his mind once more. He actually shifted in his seat slightly to face his blonde classmate, who was leaned solicitously toward him.

The dropping temperatures had actually forced Trancy into pants, expensive dark denim hugging his legs flatteringly and a pale pink button-down doing the same for his torso. Apparently he couldn't wear anything that wouldn't call attention to his admittedly decent looks.

Ciel just smiled, staring at his second chair like a particularly elusive pest caught in a trap at long last. A few moments passed, before Trancy leaned back, face twisted with ugly irritation.

"Why the fuck are you staring at me like that, you weirdo?"

Another beat passed, and Ciel turned his attention forward once more, still smiling rather dangerously. He was absolutely tickled by Trancy's jealousy over the prestigious solo, and he sorely wished he could see how the second chair would react if he knew what other attentions Michaelis had been giving his student.

The subject of this thought entered the room then, and Ciel hastily returned his mind to its blank state of innocence. As usual, the murmuring room settled down, and all the students were quiet and at attention by the time Michaelis had removed his coat and arranged his papers on the podium on the front dais.

Sheer, monastic resolve kept the blood from rushing to Ciel's cheeks as their eyes met briefly, and he hastily turned his attention to fiddling with his music stand, making minute adjustments until he felt steady enough to return his focus to the professor.

The empirical meaning of the man's words sank in, but mostly Ciel was absorbed in watching the shapes formed on those lovely lips and contemplating the feel of them against his own. He bit down punishingly hard on his tongue, chiding himself for allowing these forbidden thoughts twice now since he'd first resolved to put them away for later.

To distract himself, he looked over at Trancy, who was watching the professor with upturned, slightly parted lips and flickering, greedy eyes. _Urgh, I certainly hope I don't look like that_ , Ciel thought. _Lovesick prat._

The sound of Michaelis's rich, hypnotic voice ceased, and Ciel turned to the music for "Dives and Lazarus." The orchestra ran through the piece, which was already coming together rather well, once, before the professor instructed them to turn to "The Lark Ascending." Ciel felt a bit guilty; apparently the group had mostly worked on the former on Wednesday in the absence of the soloist for their other piece.

He'd also gotten scant practice at the prior evening's rehearsal, so it was with slight trepidation that Ciel riffled to the piece at hand, preparing to play his solo with the entire orchestra for essentially the first time. As his classmates prepared, he rose from his seat, awkwardly dragging his music stand a few paces forward and standing before it in his position as the soloist. For the first time that morning, his indecent thoughts about Sebastian fell fully away from his mind as he anxiously awaited the instruction to begin.

His heart pounded as he touched the strings of his bow to his violin, drawing out the first few notes. He began to relax as the music flowed through him. He'd always thought of himself as a conduit, guiding the music out through his fingertips, rather than creating it himself. This relaxed him a bit as he continued to play, unconsciously summoning the fluttering notes and admiring the way they fell against the swell of the music behind him.

Ciel felt peaceful and dreamy as they completed the piece, a calm, soft smile on his face as the last notes faded out. He met his professor's eye, offering him the gentle happiness he felt without a trace of self-consciousness. Michaelis's rosewood eyes were sultry and penetrating, though the rest of his face was professional and congratulatory as he gave his soloist an approving nod.

"Very good," he said, before offering notes to the class. Their meaning was lost on Ciel, whose outpouring of nerves through his violin had left him feeling content and a bit slow. The class passed in a rather distant blur as the group rehearsed the piece, their soloist intuitively coaxing the music from his violin, mind empty and face sweet and faintly joyful.

Michaelis dismissed them, and sense began to return to Ciel as he stored his violin in its case and collected his things. Suddenly he couldn't remember if he usually said goodbye to his professor before he left class. He settled on a rather awkward nod, which was met with a tiny flickering of amusement at the corners of the older man's lips and eyes, and wordlessly departed.

As he left the music building, a foot stepped painfully against his heel, crumpling off his shoe. Ciel whipped around, annoyed, doubly so at who the perpetrator was. He groaned and knelt to smooth out the crushed leather of his black loafer while its attacker hovered over him.

Ciel rose, making to leave. Trancy fell into step behind him, looping his arm through the dark-haired boy's. "Come have drinks with me tonight," he purred, his voice syrupy sweet.

Radiating confused disgust, Ciel attempted to wrench his arm away, but Trancy's hugging grip was insistent and strong. "What? No. Why? You hate me. Why? No."

Trancy laughed, a sound like sunshine. "What gives you that idea, silly? I want to get to know each other better!" Despite the wholesome warmth of these words, the grip on Ciel's arm was almost painfully tight as Trancy looped his other arm around it as well.

More confused than anything, Ciel frowned up at Trancy. "No. I'm not doing that. No."

The blonde's expression turned pouty, but his eyes glinted viciously. "You're insulting me, _Ciel_. I _insist_ that you come out for just one drink with me tonight."

Absolutely befuddled and repulsed, he acquiesced. "God, fine, yes, just please get off of me."

That strange, manic delight returned to the other boy's face, and he released Ciel's arm to clap his hands together joyfully. "Hooray! I'll come by your place at eight."

"You don't even know where I live," he said, rather glad about this.

The blonde ignored him, twirling gracefully before sauntering away. "See you tonight!" he called to Ciel, who stood confused and annoyed in his wake.

The rest of the day was normal enough, though Ciel's thoughts strayed to his orchestra professor more than once or twice. He tried not to allow his mind to wander too far, though, lest he risk embarrassment at suddenly being asked to stand up.

He returned to his small single apartment at the end of the day, diligently completing his homework alongside a cup of Ceylon, before puttering around in agitation as he waited for 8:00 to arrive. He was hopeful that the second chair was off his medication or something, and he could look forward to a peaceful evening alone.

No such luck; at 8:20, a loud, sharp knock rang out against his door. Ciel briefly considered ignoring it, leaping under his covers and hiding like a child, but he worried that the strange boy would break the door open or pick the lock or something equally insane.

Resigned, he opened the door, holding out one last thread of hope that perhaps it was maintenance staff or perhaps a very polite murderer. He sighed as he swung the door open to reveal Alois Trancy, who had swapped his comparatively demure collared shirt from the morning for a tight, faded t-shirt for a band Ciel had never heard of. A large rip just below the collar revealed smooth white skin and a rather sharp clavicle.

"Is that what you're wearing?" the boy asked incredulously as Ciel opened the door.

"Good evening to you too, Trancy," he replied wearily, stepping out and locking the door behind him. Just in case he was unlucky enough to actually get dragged out, he'd already put his wallet, phone, and keys in his pockets and grabbed his coat. He certainly wasn't about to allow this person into his apartment.

Ciel braced himself as the blonde led him out of the building, and he was rather surprised when Trancy climbed into the back seat of a black car parked on the curb. Cautiously, Ciel followed, settling himself onto plush black leather. Without any prompting, the driver started the car and pulled away as soon as both of its passengers were seated.

Deep uneasiness sat heavily in Ciel's stomach, sending flares of warning through him every time the vehicle turned and Trancy allowed himself to slide along the seat and crash into his companion. He had persuaded the driver to blast some sort of bass-heavy electronic music, and the windows had a dark tint that made it difficult to see out, leaving Ciel quite disoriented. Mercifully, the ride was fairly short, perhaps ten minutes, but he had no idea where they were.

He clambered out as soon as it was clear they'd reached their destination, but his insidious companion for the evening stayed in the car a moment more to give instructions to the driver. Ciel took stock of his surroundings; to his surprise, they were on a quiet block in an upscale neighborhood. The bar they'd been dropped off at occupied a rather nondescript brick building that adjoined its neighbors. Knowing what little he did of Trancy, he'd been expecting some sort of flashy club, or perhaps a ditch where he'd be murdered and abandoned.

A warm hand siezed Ciel's wrist, startling him from his thoughts, and dragged him inside. The interior was rich and modern, dimly lit by artsy woven pendant lamps hanging from the ceiling. A handful of angular armchairs were clustered around low glass tables throughout the room, and the matte stainless steel bar top was mounted on expensive-looking dark wood. The two boys approached it, Trancy swinging himself up onto a blood-colored leather seat with a flourish. His shorter companion followed suit, climbing up rather gracelessly next to him.

The blonde ordered some sort of whiskey cocktail that must have been a signature drink of the place. He glanced at the dark-haired boy beside him. "Make it two," he added, his voice blunt and condescending.

Ciel didn't protest; nothing said he had to drink the stupid thing. Trancy stared at him, smiling maliciously and fiddling with a strand of pale hair as they waited for their drinks. He didn't speak until after they'd arrived and he'd taken a long sip, large aqua eyes fixed on his increasingly uncomfortable classmate the whole time.

"So, Phantomhive," he began solicitously, voice low and buttery. "What happened to your eye?" The blonde relaxed an elbow against the bar as he faced Ciel, the small straw from his drink perched against his pouty pink lips.

"Is that why you dragged me out here? To ask me a personal medical question?" A slight sneer crinkled Ciel's nose and creased his forehead as he regarded the other boy. His own drink sat ignored and sweating on the bar in front of him.

"Will you tell me if I guess?" Hushed, sharp excitement filled Trancy's voice. He reminded Ciel vaguely of a wasp; unpredictably dangerous, able and willing to sting again and again at any provocation.

"Why do you care so much?" Ciel was cautious, testing.

Trancy's voice was pouty, sugary, mimicking thoughtfulness. "Oh, why do I care so much? Curse my soft heart." He slurped down the rest of his drink, and pulled down the corners of his mouth in exaggerated sulkiness. "You haven't touched your drink. It's hurting my feelings." His words were edged with steel, clearly enunciated and suggestive of true wrath lurking not far behind.

Hesitantly, Ciel took a sip from the edge of the glass, ignoring the straw. Bitter, pungent whiskey hit his tongue heavily, poorly masked by some sort of cinnamony soda, and he couldn't quite suppress a shudder. Trancy laughed unkindly at this, and reached over for Ciel's glass. He drained it himself, sipping from the rim like the other boy had, and called for the bartender's attention.

"He doesn't like whiskey. Bring him something better." With good grace, the light-haired woman behind the bar nodded, reaching for a handful of ingredients scattered throughout the well-stocked shelves. "Oh, and Hannah?" the woman paused, turning respectfully towards the blonde. "Make it a double. He's already behind." She nodded again, and shortly placed a tall, narrow glass before a bewildered Ciel.

Tentatively, for the sake of getting home quickly and in one piece, Ciel took a sip. Sweet, floral soda masked any alcohol within, and while not exactly to his tastes, it was at least drinkable. He took another, larger sip, and the blonde beside him seemed pleased.

"So," Trancy said, relaxing back into his earlier position, with his entire body turned to face the other boy. He hadn't ordered another drink; it seemed he genuinely wanted to match his companion's consumption. Ciel sat somewhat stiffly on the stool, turning only his head to face the blonde. He absently sipped his drink, both for something to do and to quench the anxiety that had not died.

"Why won't you tell me what happened to it? It only makes me more curious, you know." Pale, manicured fingers fiddled with the hole in the collar of his shirt.

"I had an accident when I was young," Ciel said coolly, the statement ringing with finality.

The blonde looked sadistic and amused. He leaned close, lips barely brushing against the other's ear, and he whispered, "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

Thoroughly disgusted, waves of revulsion crawling through him, Ciel jumped backwards and nearly toppled off his stool to escape the contact. "What the hell are you talking about!?"

As if seducing him with the secrets of the universe, Trancy lowered his voice and leaned forward. "He did mine with hot oil. Yours," he purred, "He did with a screw."

Icy, electric disbelief crashed through him, and his heart went into overdrive in the ancient throes of animal terror.

 _He'd been dragged to a strange, run-down house that lay someplace at the end of a long, bumpy, blindfolded ride on the floor of a sedan that reeked of cigarette smoke and mildew. His captors had gotten out of the car without him, and he was almost more afraid of being bound and abandoned in a car than being brought someplace he could at least see. However, they'd left the door to the backseat hanging open, and he could hear their voices a small distance away._

 _At last, one of them reached in and hauled him up, grunting and tossing him over a broad shoulder like a sack of flour. So much sightless motion and terror was beginning to make the boy feel ill, and just before he completely lost himself to nausea, he was thrown down roughly on a large, creaky mattress. The scratchy cloth hiding his eyes was torn off, revealing a rather nondescript man with a brown ponytail and unkempt chin scruff. The rest of his bindings were removed, but the man climbed on top of Ciel and restrained him just as effectively._

 _The man held him down, crushing his body—small even for a nine-year-old—beneath his own. Shackling both of the boy's wrists in one of his hands, the other wrestled the boy's clothes from his thrashing, desperate frame. His legs were pinned under the heavy adult straddling him, leaving him unable to kick, and he couldn't get close enough to sink his teeth into the face leering above him._

 _The enraged, trapped child did the only thing he could: he spat upward as hard as he could into the disgusting man's right eye. The monster over him froze at this defiant gesture, a hard, cold thirty seconds passing before he moved. Ciel grew more and more frightened with each stony second, sure that he would be punished for this rebellion. He fell still, gazing fearfully up at the face hovering over his._

 _"I knew you were difficult," the adult said softly at last, not breaking eye contact with the child. He managed to lean over to a small table beside the bed while still holding Ciel's wrists and straddling his waist, keeping him pressed into the hard mattress and unable to escape or fight back. The man's finger's skimmed the surface of the table briefly, before pausing and taking hold of something the boy couldn't see._

 _The man smiled calmly, almost benignly, bringing the object forward before his captive's eyes. A rusty screw. He took the sharp tip of it between his lips, holding it delicately between his teeth, and he set about re-fastening the bindings around Ciel's wrists. They were looped though a cast-iron bar of the headboard, leaving the child completely vulnerable and unable to move._

 _The heavy man crushing his lap ran his fingers lovingly through silky, blue-grey hair, before yanking sharply and holding the boy's head still. He cried out in pain, trying helplessly to thrash himself free, his movements and screams intensifying hugely as the tip of the screw pressed softly, softly against his lower eyelid._

 _In a corner of Ciel's anguished mind, he could feel that the man pressed against him was becoming hard. He grew only more aroused as he dragged the instrument across the boy's tightly shut eye, over and over, and Ciel cried out, shrieking and cursing with pain and rage. Blood trickled down his face, mingling with tears, and at last the sharp jagged thing was withdrawn._

 _He kept his eyes, torn apart and intact, squeezed shut, but he felt the man lean back to the table as he had earlier, replacing the screw. Ciel lay still, breathing heavily, salt and blood streaming heavily from his eyes as he waited for the horrible man to leave._

 _As much as they were still able to, the child's eyes flew open in alarm when the weight against him shifted up slightly and he heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper being drawn down. "NO!" Ciel screamed, all of his earlier panic and horror returned as he fought against his restraints with renewed vigor._

 _The man maneuvered himself carefully, grabbing the boy's legs and splaying them around himself without ever allowing him a chance to kick. Apparently, he'd grabbed something else from the nightstand, for the hot weight pressing against his bottom was slicked with something thick and slippery._

 _"Don't say I never did you any favors," the man muttered, before thrusting himself into the boy._

 _Absolute, white-hot, ripping agony. Ciel's scream was utterly wild, filled with blood and pain and primal horror. The man ripping him apart didn't seem to mind, and he thrust himself into the child over and over again, the pain of it never diminishing._

 _Finally, at last, he got what he came for and extracted himself, a deep, throbbing ache settling into Ciel filling in the space left behind. He left without a word, the child on the bed bound, bloodied, and weeping, utterly broken._

For the first time, Ciel looked at the blonde with real interest, spinning himself to face the boy who knew something so utterly secret. Shock was written heavily on the dark-haired teen's features; by contrast, his companion was smirking comfortably. "I knew it was you."

"How do you know that?" he asked urgently, clutching his slender glass so tightly that it was a wonder it hadn't shattered.

Trancy looked downright predatory. "Why don't you finish your drink, and I'll tell you how I know."

Reflexively, huge blue eye still fixed on the other boy, Ciel downed the entire glass, not tasting it.

"Good boy," Trancy cooed, before calling sharply to the bartender. "Hannah! Another round!"

Mutely, Ciel shook his head, but he was still too shocked by his companion's revelation to protest with vigor. He was ignored, and another glass was set before him.

Automatically, he curled a hand around it and took a sip, waiting for Trancy to explain himself.

"We live in such a small world," the blonde mused, holding his glass up in the hand of his arm propped up on the bar, turning it this way and that as he studied it. Ciel stared, his face a blank mask. "To think, we had a few acquaintances in common before we even met! Such kind people, to offer a poor, sad child from the streets a place to stay." Trancy's tone was childish and light, but his sea-glass eyes were tightly lined and a faint, poisonous ugliness curled around his words. "Of course, they ended up doing some not-so-nice things when he didn't like the payment they asked for. They told him a very scary story about a boy, much richer and more valuable than this vagrant, who wouldn't play nice. And they did something bad to their little homeless boy, and he behaved himself from then on."

Ciel was stony and a bit shell-shocked as Trancy paused. The blonde then smiled brightly, sweetness suffusing his features. "Don't you just love happy endings, though? You made it back to your auntie, and our little vagrant found himself someone who would take care of him and set him up nice before dying mysteriously." Turquoise eyes glinted darkly as Trancy drank from the rim of his glass.

"...Oh..." Ciel choked at last. He took a huge swallow of his drink, emptying the glass, and staring hollowly at the calm boy before him.

Trancy chuckled warmly, waving a hand and closing his eyes, all the dark clouds suddenly dissipated. "Come on, let's go sit someplace more comfortable." He slid down to the shiny, dark hardwood floor, tugging his insensate companion along behind him.

As always seemed to be the case, the alcohol didn't really hit Ciel until he stood up, and the strange pair settled down at a couple of armchairs tucked in a distant, quiet corner of the room. Dimly, Ciel wondered if the second drink Trancy had foisted upon him had also been a double. He hoped not; more than ever now, he wanted to keep his wits around the mercurial blonde.

A sparkling champagne voice told him to wait there and save their seats while he got more drinks. Ciel was still too out of it to stop him, nauseous with memories and torn between fear and sympathy.

Another glass was thrust into his hand, and Trancy placed his own drink carefully on the low table in front of them before shoving his chair across the floor until it was quite close to Ciel's. "How are your private lessons with Michaelis going?" the blonde's voice was low, hungry, calculating.

His past, his present, Michaelis, Trancy. Ciel felt completely overwhelmed, and he just shook his head, staring down into his lap. "Fine," he replied dully.

"Oh, you tease! _Tell_ me about it."

Ciel frowned to himself and took a sip of his drink. "What's to tell? I have two extra rehearsals a week with Sebastian for my solo."

With complete horror, Ciel's heart stuttered as he realized his mistake. He couldn't hope that the other had missed it; Trancy's face was lit up as if Jesus had returned to earth to escort him to heaven personally.

" _Sebastian?_ "

Perhaps the situation could be salvaged; he could play it off like he had an unrequited crush on his professor. He'd rather the little sociopath hold _that_ over his head than the truth, which had much higher stakes.

Ciel feigned like he was drunker than he really was, taking a long sip with closed lips, before roughly plunking the glass back onto the table. "I meant Michaelis...it's just that sometimes, you know...I think of him as Sebastian." _Dig, dig_. "I just want him to like me, you know? And he's so good-looking..." Another long, fake sip. Hopefully he wouldn't notice the relatively unchanged levels of the glass.

Luckily, Trancy seemed so maliciously delighted that he didn't notice the little details of deceit. "I _knew_ you fancied him." He studied the boy opposite him carefully. "So nothing happened between you two?"

Ciel shook his head, looking down at the drink in his hand in mock disappointment. "I wish." _Seal the deal._ He looked up, summoning with all his might the shimmery sadness of someone young, lovestruck, and intoxicated. "Don't tell him. Please? I would be so embarrassed if he knew."

There, he'd given him something to feel superior about and hold over his head. Hopefully that sense of power would be enough to satisfy him and he would never find out the truth. Ciel repressed a shudder at the absolute calamity of that scenario.

Trancy did indeed seem pleased with this answer, leaning back in his armchair and resting an arm across the back in the posture of a spoiled prince. "Don't worry, _Ciel,"_ he cooed, "I won't tell anyone your little secret."

Ciel managed a wavery smile, and slumped lower in his chair. "I don't feel very well," he mumbled.

This was not a complete fabrication; His and Trancy's shared pasts and the boy's strange intuition about _something_ between Ciel and Sebastian, not to mention the two rather strong, sugary drinks, had indeed left him feeling a bit ill. "I think I'd like to go home and lie down."

Trancy shrugged and retrieved his phone from his pocket. He fiddled with it for a few minutes, ignoring the boy slumped in the chair next to him. Suddenly, he stood. "Let's go, moron. The car's waiting outside." He took the glass held limply in Ciel's hand and drained its contents in a single motion, before turning and walking towards the door.

Ciel stood clumsily, tripping over the shoved-together chairs and the modern glass coffee table before untangling himself and trotting after his companion. He wouldn't put it past Trancy to leave him there.

The ride home did little to alleviate Ciel's churning stomach, and he actually clutched the trash can in front of his building and heaved over it for a moment after he stumbled out of the car. Finally free from the poisonous blonde, he went up to his small apartment and threw himself face-down on the bed.

He lay motionless for a few minutes before peeling himself up and drinking a large glass of cold water from a pitcher he'd started keeping in the fridge. He took a long, hot shower and drank a cup of herbal tea, and he felt nearly sober by the time a second cup and been drained. For good measure, he poured himself another glass of water to keep by his bedside table.

Preventative measures against hangover thus taken, he shut off the lights and crawled into bed. His jangling nerves had quieted a bit away from the immediacy of the bizarre encounter with Trancy, but fear and confusion still clawed at the back of his throat. Utterly worn out, he soon fell asleep.

His nightmares were dingy beige prisons and boiling pain.


	7. Chapter 7

Ciel awoke early on Saturday morning, the sunlight muted and grey through a heavy layer of low clouds and the flimsy window blinds of his tiny flat. He sighed and snuggled himself deeper into the warmth of his covers; a long night of familiar nightmares had left him in need of this small comfort, and the cold, damp weather practically encouraged such indulgence.

With things as they were, the weekend held little appeal. He had a paper for French that needed writing, he desperately needed to do laundry and buy food, and most of all, he couldn't see the professor who dominated his thoughts. He found himself longing for Tuesday night, when at last he could see Sebastian without maintaining the appropriate distance of an ordinary student.

The prospect of all these dull chores and the exhausting doublethink that awaited him in class on Monday sent Ciel deeper into his blankets, curled tight around the spare pillow he'd taken to cuddling against in his sleep. There was a certain childish joy in hiding in bed from one's responsibilities.

The respite was brief, however. His phone buzzed loudly against the nightstand, the harsh sound jarring him from his drowsiness. He stretched out an arm and pulled the phone toward him, reading the message he'd received from his warm cocoon.

 **Lizzy Midford: I think Mum is planning one of her "surprise visits" today. Good luck, lol.**

"Oh, mother _fucker_ ," Ciel groaned to himself. He couldn't be all that surprised—school had been in session for well over a month now and his aunt hadn't yet come to visit him. Her son Edward had been an Oxford student, so she'd seen the campus before, and she had personally been responsible for her nephew's living arrangement.

No, she wasn't coming for the pure joy of his company or to see where he was living and going to school; this was her way of making sure he was still living up to her exacting standards in her absence. Heaving a deep, enormous sigh of the heavily put-upon, Ciel wrenched himself from the warm embrace of his bed and began the day.

In addition to all the other things that needed to be done, he would now have to spend extra time tidying his apartment and making himself presentable. He'd gone to sleep with wet hair last night, and it stuck up at wonky angles and hung in his face—something Francis hated.

Designating his homework the lowest priority for the moment, he hauled his dirty clothes to the building's common laundry room and began cleaning up the random bits of garbage and used dishes strewn about the apartment. He made the bed awkwardly and wiped all the hard surfaces with a damp rag. By the time his things were ready to be dried, the place looked halfway presentable.

He ironed his clothes carefully and hung them up in his wardrobe before he showered, styling his hair in a way he hoped his aunt would find acceptable. He chose a respectable outfit of white button-down and deep green slacks, threw on his coat, and rushed off to the store to procure some tea and snacks.

He knew that trying to please her right off the bat was impossible; Ciel wasn't especially domestic, and she was rather difficult to predict with what she would find to criticize. All he could do was at least appear to be trying.

He went ahead and purchased the week's groceries along with provisions, and he felt like an extremely ridiculous pack animal hauling all of the cloth shopping bags up the stairs to his apartment. The key felt loose when he turned to unlock the door; it had already been opened.

With resigned dread, he entered the small flat, unsurprised to see his aunt sitting primly at the small dining table, sipping a cup of tea. She loved to have the upper hand, catching him off-guard and unprepared whenever she could. "Hello, Ciel," she said calmly.

"Aunt Francis," he said, more politely than warmly. He slid the bags from his shoulders to the floor and went to her, embracing her as she stood. "Sorry about the tea, I got some higher-quality Assam from the store."

She nodded rather approvingly; he'd passed the first test. He waited for her to say something about the musty, wet-towel smell that hung faintly in the air, or the fine layer of rubbish that Ciel hadn't been able to clean without a broom or a vaccuum. She merely asked him about his studies, however, and cautiously, he replied.

"I was asked to play the solo for 'The Lark Ascending,'"

She looked genuinely pleased at this. "A lovely piece. I always loved Vaughn Williams."

He turned and began putting away his purchases, some of which had begun to thaw and drip onto the shopping bags. "Yes, I'm glad now that you made me learn 'Dives and Lazarus' when I was younger."

"I knew you could handle it," she said evenly, taking in stride the small jab to her rather forceful nature. "And I see it's served you well."

He folded the empty bags and stowed them in a cabinet, before fixing a pot of tea for them to share and joining Francis at the table. "How are you doing? It must be strange, without me and Lizzy at the house."

She waved a hand carelessly. "Oh, of course I miss my children, but I've been keeping plenty busy." She drained her teacup, recrossed her legs, and leaned forward in her seat. Her elbows propped on the table, fingers laced loosely, she peered at him intensely over her hands. He thought he detected a predatory shimmer, and he took a sip of tea and averted her eyes. The inquisition proper was about to begin.

"Do you need some money for a haircut? Do the places nearby not accept credit cards?"

She hassled him about his looks and dwelling for another quarter hour, before requesting that he take her on a tour. He was rather relieved at the prospect of escaping the space that suddenly felt suffocatingly tiny, and he was glad to lead her out into the misty grey afternoon.

Although she'd visited Oxford before when Edward had been a student, her son had studied economics and spent most of his time in an entirely different part of campus. Throughout the walk to the buildings housing Ciel's classes, she remarked on the shabbiness of a façade here, a gaping crack in the cobblestone walk there. "For how much money the school has, you'd think they could afford to fix it."

He was quiet for the most part, speaking only to tell her which class he had where. They arrived at the music building last, since it was the farthest away and the one he spent most of his time at.

"Can I see inside?" Francis asked. Probably to make sure the building most important to her nephew's studies was up to snuff.

The building was almost always unlocked to accommodate students who might want to practice during the weekends, but Ciel didn't really feel like listening to her complain any longer. He was hoping that he could finish showing her around and they could go out to dinner; he hadn't had a chance to eat lunch, and he was starving.

"It's probably locked."

Apparently his aloof, confident tone wasn't enough to convince her, and she tried the door herself. Of course, it swung open, and she looked back at him sourly.

"What luck," he said weakly, following her inside.

Her heels clacked loudly in the deserted entrance hall before she stopped and turned, waiting for her nephew to lead her.

He did so, showing her to the orchestra room. He figured the second-floor classrooms wouldn't be of much interest, and part of him was terrified that he might run into Sebastian, whose office also lay upstairs. Even though it was late afternoon on a Saturday, he couldn't help but feel paranoid. He wouldn't put it past his aunt to immediately discern something unusual between them, no matter how small the interaction.

Now _that_ was a terrifying thought.

Ciel hovered close to the double doors while Francis slowly walked around the room, inspecting the facilities, occasionally pausing to study something further. Thankfully, she knew enough about music that she didn't ask many questions, and she was ready to leave soon enough.

They were almost out of the building, the echoey foyer filled with clacking heels and hushed criticisms, when the best possible voice at the worst possible time rang out behind Ciel and his aunt.

"Phantomhive?" Sebastian was about two-thirds of the way down one of the sweeping sets of stairs framing the entrance hall.

Ciel froze, and his aunt paused and turned smoothly to face the man who'd addressed her nephew. Sebastian leisurely made his way down the steps and over to the pair, the younger man still unmoving and facing the door. At last, he slowly spun around, cringing massively just behind his aunt. He cleared his throat, but his voice came out thin and tight. "Aunt Francis, this is my orchestra professor, Sebastian Michaelis. Professor, this is my aunt Francis."

"A pleasure," the man said, extending a hand to the stately lady who shook it firmly.

He was already wearing a coat and a pair of black gloves; obviously he'd just been leaving. Ciel cursed internally. Why couldn't his aunt have been satisfied with a _slightly_ less thorough tour of the facilities? He wondered if Sebastian had seen them come in the building from his office window, and was torturing him on purpose. That would have only made sense if they'd run into him while arriving, however. It was just bad luck, and Ciel couldn't blame it on anyone, though he dearly wanted to.

"Well, if you'll excuse us, professor, we were just going to freshen up a bit and head out for dinner," he said, as gracefully as possible. Dinner hadn't actually been discussed, but his high-society aunt certainly wouldn't dispute it in front of a stranger. If she asked later, he could claim that he was hungry and hadn't wanted to linger.

"Ah, of course. I won't hold you up, I merely thought I recognized my first chair and thought I should offer my greetings. Excuse me," he said, touching his hand to his heart in his signature gesture of apology.

Francis was looking at him a bit sternly; no doubt she was ruminating on his long, messy hair, and Ciel was grateful she couldn't see his nails. "Why don't you come to dinner with us?" she asked. "I would love to get to know the orchestra professor, seeing as my nephew is a music student and you'll no doubt come to play an important role."

Ciel honestly thought he might pass out. Was this a nightmare? Was it hell?

Sebastian smiled warmly, eyelids lightly closed. "Thank you for your kind offer, but I couldn't possibly impose."

"Please, no trouble at all. I insist," she said, her tone polite but firm and her eyes flashing steel.

The look of pained shock on Ciel's face must have been comical; Sebastian looked like he was struggling not to laugh at the whole situation. "Well then, I accept. Shall I pick you up, if you're going back home first?"

Francis snorted. "I don't really need anything from your place, Ciel. But I'm driving, and I left my car at your building. Would you like to walk with us, Professor?" Despite his politeness, it was clear that she was already disappointed with the professor. Things were rarely good enough for her at first blush, but Sebastian would certainly impress her if she interrogated him as Ciel suspected she was planning to.

The man smiled, eyes flicking briefly to Ciel. "Certainly."

Despite her excellent sense of direction, they'd taken a particularly roundabout path to the music building and Francis didn't know how to get back to the apartment, leaving Ciel to lead. His professor and aunt walked a bit behind him, and he felt horribly, desperately awkward. He was at least grateful that neither of them could see his face.

He could hear Francis questioning the professor already, asking him about his background. Despite his distracted discomfort, Ciel tilted an ear back to listen. It occurred to him that he didn't know much about the man's history.

"I did my undergraduate studies at Oxford, then my masters and my doctorate at the Sorbonne," he was saying. "And I played violin with the Vienna Philharmonic before I came to teach."

Even the exacting Francis was impressed by this pedigree, and her face was softened by approval. He continued. "Here, I've been working with the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment to revive the works of Rameau."

All of this was news to the student, who was quite interested and a bit embarrassed by how little he knew about the person who so consumed his thoughts.

At last, they reached the car park near Ciel's building, and they followed Francis to her charcoal grey BMW. There was an awkward pause when both passengers reached for the back seat door handle, and they looked at each other across the car's roof.

"You should sit next to your aunt," the professor said, ever gracious and polite.

"I couldn't make you sit in the back, sir." Ciel's face was written with strain, and he wouldn't be surprised if he'd aged forty years in the past twenty-four hours.

Francis didn't look back at either of them, swinging herself into the driver's seat. "I don't care who sits with me, but I'm not a bloody taxi service and one of you has to."

Mercifully, Sebastian allowed his student the anonymity of the backseat, where his aunt couldn't see his face and he was able to sag lifelessly against the window.

Ciel was quiet for the duration of the short ride. A part of him hoped that he could just will himself out of existence if he was detached from the situation hard enough. Unfortunately, things continued to happen around him, and soon they were being seated at a small table in a modern-classic type restaurant.

He excused himself to the single bathroom in the back of the restaurant, desperate to regain some of his composure. The water that flowed from the tap wasn't as bracingly cold as he hoped, but he splashed his face anyway, patting it dry with a scratchy paper towel before slumping against the door with his head in his hands.

After sixty seconds of sweet solitude, Ciel shut his eyes and took a deep, calming breath, and returned to his professor and aunt. It seemed Francis was still interrogating Sebastian, who was patiently indulging her. As Ciel approached the table, he caught Sebastian's eye over his aunt's shoulder.

"Ciel showed extraordinary promise as first chair, and seemed familiar with the works of Vaughn Williams, so I believed he would be well-suited to perform the solo," Sebastian was saying to Francis, though his auburn eyes bore into the student who was seating himself next to her.

"Thank you, sir," he said, quavering slightly under the intensity of those eyes.

Though her face still appeared stern and impassive, Ciel could tell that his orchestra professor was impressing Francis. The little boost to her pride at having introduced her nephew to the composer in question certainly seemed to make her more amicable.

"Even when he was young and just learning to play, I knew he could handle it," she replied.

"Yes, he's quite talented." Sebastian's warm gaze was still fixed on Ciel, who cleared his throat irritably.

"I'm right here, and I can hear what you're saying."

Sebastian chuckled softly, while Francis gave her nephew an annoyed look. "Don't be fresh."

He enjoyed a tiny smirk, before smoothing out his face and tipping his head to the professor opposite him. "So, Aunt Francis, are you getting along with Professor Michaelis?"

"Swimmingly," Sebastian said, while Francis made a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat. "He seems like an acceptable instructor."

He looked over at Sebastian, who had the good graces to not look offended, and offered a small smile. "That's a compliment from her."

This observation was met by a hard poke in the ribs.

"Yes, your aunt is certainly a sharp woman. No doubt she has exceedingly high standards, and I consider myself lucky to pass."

Francis "hmphed," again, and Ciel bit his lip and glanced around the room. Thankfully, a server came to take their drink orders, and the awkwardness was quickly dispelled.

None of them had even looked at the menu yet, and a sharp pang in Ciel's stomach reminded him of the hunger that had been shoved out of the way by the absolute discomfort of the situation he'd found himself in. He studied the page; most of the dishes were some strange version of traditional dishes―beer braised mussels, organic grass-fed hanger steak, curry with chocolate―but all seemed high-quality and attentively selected.

He ordered a plate of grilled rice balls with ponzu to eat before they got their main dishes, and devoured them as soon as they arrived. He was too hungry for conversation, and his aunt looked faintly disgusted by the uncouth display.

Once he'd finished, with an amused smile at Francis's expense, Ciel propped an elbow on the table and leaned his cheek into it. "So, Professor," he drawled, "do you have any interest in fencing?"

He looked mildly surprised by the question, but answered smoothly. "I fenced when I was a student, but gave it up when I moved to Vienna and I haven't since."

"My aunt is a wonderful swordswoman, and my cousin is too. Francis used to compete, and she still teaches private lessons occasionally."

She looked pleased and a tinge embarrassed at the attention suddenly on her. "I firmly believe that keeping your mind and body active are very important, and fencing accomplishes both."

"Very impressive," Sebastian said, appraising the woman with barely raised brows. He still didn't quite understand the sudden change of subject, or what his student had up his sleeve.

"Perhaps you two could enjoy a friendly match the next time you visit, Aunt Francis," Ciel said, amused at the prospect. He was feeling a bit silly with the sudden spike in blood sugar. It was very clear that neither of his dining companions were quite following the thread of conversation, which seemed terribly funny. In fact, he was merely attempting to derail his aunt's questioning for the sheer joy of being difficult.

"Certainly, I look forward to getting to know each other better," the professor said politely.

Francis gave him a somewhat disdainful, appraising look. "I doubt it would be much of a match," she said.

Evidently she had thrown down the gauntlet, and Sebastian's smile widened wolfishly. "Of course, a humble academic could never hope to defeat a seasoned athlete such as yourself, but I suspect I could at least give you some decent practice."

The same prideful streak that often got Ciel into trouble flared up within his aunt, and he watched with perverse delight as Francis and Sebastian stared each other down, glowering and grinning in turn. "If you're not too busy, Professor Michaelis, I would be more than happy to engage you today. The long drive has indeed left me in need of something to loosen up my muscles."

He smiled benignly, though there was a sense of sharpened fangs waiting behind those soft pink lips. "Wonderful. I'm sure the fitness center would be happy to lend us some equipment."

After they'd ordered their main dishes, Ciel eating his with a bit more restraint than he'd done the rice balls, Francis paid the check (to Sebastian's ever-polite protests) and they departed. The conversation during the meal had been pleasant, Francis opening up a bit more about her fencing and liberally dispensing her opinions on current fitness fads.

Ciel sat in the passenger seat on the ride home, feeling a bit more at ease and calmed down from his earlier insulin high. He was still terribly amused at the situation; his aunt fencing his professor seemed more like a bizarre dream he might have than a Saturday evening.

They made the fairly short walk from the car park outside the dormitory building to the gymnasium, which was fairly deserted, and gathered the necessary things from the equipment room in the basement. They adjourned to an empty studio around the corner, and Ciel perched himself on the low set of shelves that students could use to store their things during a class.

Sebastian and Francis squared off, both of them having declined to wear a mask, amused, flickering auburn meeting resolved amber.

Never one for half-measures or mercy, Francis fought with her usual rigor, expecting to land a blow immediately. The professor's look of smug satisfaction deepened at her surprise as he dodged and parried each lunge. She actually gasped with astonishment and stumbled backward when the blunt tip of the saber hit her square in the chest.

"You have a lot of skill for someone who hasn't fenced regularly since university," she admitted in an awed voice, seeming almost outside herself.

"Thank you," Sebastian said graciously, bowing with a flourish of saber. "Shall we continue?"

She nodded, seeming to re-focus her energy as she returned to her stance.

No longer caught off-guard by assumptions about her opponent, Francis adjusted her tactic and the two were well-matched. She scored a final point, winning rather more narrowly than she was accustomed to, and shook her opponent's hand warmly. "I have to say, it was a pleasure to meet such a worthy adversary." She cast a glance to her nephew, who'd watched their sparring from the sidelines, cheering each of them on in turn. "Hopefully working with him will inspire you to begin your own exercise regimen, Ciel."

He waved this off with a smile and a lazy flick of his wrist. "Shall I walk you back to your car?"

Francis wiped her wrist against the glimmering sweat on her forehead, cheek, and jaw. "I parked at your place, so you have to if you want to go home."

Ciel smiled, not disputing what she'd said, and slid off the wooden box. The three returned the borrowed sabers to the equipment room and exited the gymnasium, pausing just outside the doors. "Good night, Professor," Ciel said, feeling immensely relieved that his aunt seemed to get on with Sebastian and that soon she would be going home.

"Good night, Phantomhive. Ms. Midford, it was a pleasure meeting you, and I hope to see you again. Perhaps I should begin training so that someday I could even defeat you."

Francis met his hand, shaking it firmly and warmly. "You certainly gave me a run for my money as is. I look forward to seeing my nephew perform this winter." _So you'd better be doing a good job instructing him_ , her tone said.

Sebastian smiled and nodded, bidding the pair one final good night before turning and returning to the car park outside the music building, while Ciel and Francis returned to her BMW to say goodbye to each other.

They embraced somewhat stiffly, neither of them much for physical affection but strangely compelled to perform the familial gesture, and Ciel took the first few steps back to his building before his aunt called back to him. All the relief he felt at making it through the day evaporated, and his heart skipped a beat as he turned back to face her.

"Yes?"

Her gaze was intense, and though she spoke quietly, the cold clarity of her words was not diffused across the span between them. "I hope you know what you're doing."

One hundred lifetimes, each of them miserable and torturous, could have been lived in the silence that ensued. At last, his mouth dry, he responded. "Pardon?"

"Just...be careful." Her face was inscrutable, an intense stony mask devoid of any discernible emotion. But she knew, and she knew that Ciel understood what she was talking about.

Life bled back into her face, and she closed her eyes and shook her head briefly while sighing deeply through her nose. "Oh, Ciel."

He was rooted to the spot, deeply worried that he might actually vomit.

Francis parted her lips as if to say something else, her usual look of grim annoyance back on her face, but she just shook her head again. "Good night."

She climbed into her car and pulled away, the frozen figure of her nephew shrinking behind her and quickly swallowed up by the darkness.

 **A/N: i. I borrowed Sebastian's research from one of Oxford's faculty, and I want to give credit where credit is due. Dr. Jonathan Williams did indeed direct the first modern performance of Rameau's Anacréon, and completed his own edition of his score.**

 **ii. I won't go too much into detail, because sports are extremely dumb and boring and I could only be fucked to put about three minutes of research into the rules of fencing, but there's definitely a points system and I think you get a point every time you poke someone with the thing (ie, the first person to successfully poke their opponent isn't just the winner).**


	8. Chapter 8

**I lied, I'm gonna post chapters as I write them.**

* * *

 _"Again."_

 _"Can't we take a break?"_

 _Mercifully, Sebastian nodded, opening the door to the rehearsal room and waiting with a hand on the knob as Ciel placed his violin in its case. The two stepped out, seating themselves in the nearby bass section._

 _Nothing had happened since Francis's nightmare visit, though they'd been playful—flirtatious, even—throughout their private lessons. It seemed they were staying later and later, working harder and harder. Time to test the waters. Ciel leaned back as much as he could in the stiff plastic chair and touched a hand to his neck. "I'm sore."_

 _Smiling softly, the professor pulled him over onto his lap and pressed his fingertips up against the delicate vertebrae. "We can't have that. I have to take care of my soloist."_

 _Ciel nearly purred under the attentions of those skilled hands massaging his neck and the tight muscles between his shoulders. He hadn't realized just how much tension he'd been carrying._

 _The warmth filtering between layers of clothing set off another set of tingles down Ciel's spine, unrelated to the relief his sore back and neck were receiving. He wriggled slightly under the pretense of making himself more comfortable, grinding his ass against Sebastian's lap._

 _He smiled wickedly at the increasing hardness that met this gesture, before Sebastian wrapped his arms around the boy on his lap and squeezed. Ciel squeaked with surprise and arousal as Sebastian was pressed more firmly against him, and lips grazed his ear._

 _"You wretched brat," he whispered, his voice teasing and devoid of any real venom._

 _"Bite me," Ciel murmured. The rush of adrenaline when the professor had pulled him close and the tickle of those words in his ear were affecting him, and he arched his back against Sebastian in playful defiance. With a low growl, the older man sank his teeth into the soft white skin of the neck before him, and Ciel gasped. Electric white tingles radiated through him and blood pulsed dully between his legs. "With pleasure," the rough velvet voice in his ear whispered._

 _He whined demandingly and tilted his head, allowing easier access to his throat, and leaned back against Sebastian's lips. He obliged, alternating wet kisses and the barest scraping of teeth from just below Ciel's jaw to the very top of his shoulder, pulling aside his shirt collar._

 _He dislodged himself briefly before settling himself back on Sebastian's_ lap, _straddling him so they faced each other. He settled his weight down, pressing his aching erection against the hardness below. "Kiss me," he demanded, his haughty voice warped and softened with need._

He wondered if Sebastian liked being ordered around in this way, for he responded with enthusiasm, pulling Ciel close and winding a hand into his hair. Their lips crashed together, and Ciel got the sense that he was being devoured―a not altogether unpleasant experience.

 _Despite his hungry lust, Sebastian seemed to be restraining himself; his hands remained above Ciel's clothing, and avoided venturing below the waist entirely._

 _The baser part of him cried out for more, and he thrust against Sebastian helplessly, needing to feel the hard press of the older man's arousal against him. Sebastian let out an abbreviated groan, squeezing Ciel tight and sending another rush through him._

 _Pushing the boundary a bit further, black-nailed hands crept up Ciel's back, fingertips and nails caressing his spine. He melted into the touch and dragged his fingers through the professor's hair, tugging lightly here and there._

 _He was rewarded with a throaty hum of approval and sharp nails digging into his skin, slightly painful but thrilling as a response to arousal. Smiling almost viciously, he raked his fingers through the soft black hair behind Sebastian's right ear and suddenly grabbed a handful, sharply tugging his head to the side and exposing his neck. Ciel sank his teeth into it._

 _The tiny, ecstatic noise that escaped the throat beneath his mouth and the sharp thrust against his hips were almost too much, and he leaned back and began fumbling open the buttons of Sebastian's shirt._

 _"Motherfucker," he muttered. Dexterous as his fingers were on the violin, the skill did not translate into undoing another person's clothing. He looked up into Sebastian's eyes, which were nearly black with dilated pupils, and tugged lightly on his shirt. "Get rid of this."_

 _He looked amused, but did not remove his hands from Ciel's hips. "I thought you didn't want to do that here."_

 _"I don't." His attention had moved down to the fastening of Sebastian's trousers. Surely a single button and zipper would prove less of a challenge. "I just want a little more than this."_

 _Gently, a large, graceful hand folded over his own and pulled them up. Slightly confused and hurt, Ciel hesitantly wound his arms around the other man's neck in a koala-like embrace._

 _"I'm not sure I could stop myself," Sebastian said, lust roughening the edges of his words, though the hand that smoothed through the boy's hair was tender. "I think it might drive me completely mad, to be so close to you and not be able to have you."_

 _Despite the overpowering desire clouding his mind, Ciel was sure that his professor was right and that pushing things any further would be a bad idea. Though he was now certainly in no mood to rehearse._

 _"So let's go somewhere," Ciel said, his voice shimmering like a heat wave. "Your place."_

 _Sebastian sighed and looked away, the urgency of the moment ebbing away. "I'm your professor," he muttered at last._

 _Ciel frowned. "This has already happened_ on school property _three times, so we're already in this. And I'm not stupid."_

 _Sebastian looked quite tired, and he closed his eyes and touched his fingertips to his forehead. "As delightful as I find you, Phantomhive―Ciel―I don't want to lose my job over this."_

 _"My aunt already knows."_

 _He should have been horrified, but Sebastian only looked thoughtfully disappointed as he nodded. "She certainly is perceptive. Although your blushing like a schoolgirl all evening wasn't especially difficult to interpret." With a pouty expression, the student poked him roughly in the stomach, which was accepted with good grace before he continued. "I'm guessing you think she could get us out of any trouble?"_

 _Ciel nodded. "She does have a lot of influence here, and she didn't seem angry. I know she doesn't like it, but she's always believed that I should make my own mistakes, and now that I'm away from home she couldn't stop me anyway―not without proof. Which no one has; she didn't acknowledge it outright, and I certainly didn't confirm her suspicions out loud."_

 _A crease had formed between Sebastian's brows, and he sighed wearily. "I suppose with what's already happened, it can't really get worse."_

 _The boy beside him lay his head on the older man's shoulder. "I don't really care."_

 _Sebastian looked at him with genuine surprise, turning only his head so as not upset the warm weight resting on him. "You might not, but the fact still remains that I could be thrown out, and I would have a devil of a time explaining myself to anyone else who might hire me. And by the way, you should. Your future is much more important than I am."_

 _Lids drifting lazily shut, Ciel waved a careless hand. "I won't let that happen." He said, ignoring that last sentence; the future had always seemed hazy and uncertain, and with his track record, it certainly couldn't get any worse than the past._

 _The past. Trancy. Ciel lifted his head. "One more thing. Trancy...he..." He thrust a hand through his hair, huffing out a breath of irritation and confustion. "He dragged me out the other night, tried to get me drunk so I'd admit something was going on between us. I played it off, but I thought you should know."_

 _Almost imperceptibly, Sebastian shifted, but it was enough to break the contact of their bodies. "Did he say anything else." His voice was utterly without affect._

 _Ciel frowned hugely, a heavy knot rising up in his stomach at the memory. "He seemed to know about...the past..." He shook his head. "It was weird. The whole night was weird."_

 _There was silence for a moment. Then:_

 _"Well, I think we've rehearsed enough for this evening. Good night, Phantomhive."_

* * *

Since then, it had seemed like an ocean was separating them. Ciel couldn't help but comb through every detail of the evening, looking for where it had gone so strangely off the rails.

It couldn't be...Sebastian wasn't _jealous_ of Trancy, was he?

Ciel almost laughed aloud at this thought. He doubted Sebastian had ever been jealous in his life. The little smile that had crept onto his lips was quickly snuffed out, though. The professor was still acting strangely, and it was setting Ciel on edge.

"Again."

Ciel lifted his bow to the strings, then hesitated and lowered it. "Is something wrong?"

Sebastian lifted an eyebrow. "What do you mean?" Ciel had half expected to be corrected for dropping the "sir" at the end of his question.

At last, he forced himself to meet Sebastian's eyes. "You've hardly said a word to me all evening. And you seemed a little...odd when you dismissed me on Thursday."

A glimmer of warmth, like a pool of sunshine on an icy winter day, seemed to cross Sebastian's face. "Ah, my apologies."

Ciel waited, but he offered no explanation. "Something to do with Trancy, perhaps?" he prompted.

Suddenly Sebastian was all smiles, though it didn't touch his eyes. "No, no, nothing like that. Please do forgive me."

Ciel decided to let it slide and shrugged, but did not raise his violin. "If you say so. Listen, I need a break."

Sebastian checked the strange old pocketwatch he favored and apologized again. As was becoming their custom in these long, grueling rehearsals, they retired to the plastic chairs at the rear of the room. They were quiet for a moment, Ciel reaching over his shoulder to massage his aching back.

He snuck a glance over at Sebastian, who looked care-worn and weary. Feeling bold, and before he could stop himself: "How about we call it a night, and grab a drink?"

 **LINE BREAK**

The bar was an expensive, old-money place that mostly served expensive bourbon and scotch; questionable on a professor's salary, but Ciel accepted that Sebastian was not ordinary.

Three rounds, and Ciel was laughing more freely than he'd ever done, his mind feeling clear and empty.

Sebastian brought out a lightness in him; but also a sharpness, a wickedness, an unapologetic darkness. He craved it like a drug.

He was drunk. Was Sebastian drunk? He couldn't tell. He seemed more at ease than he had, although maybe that tension was still there beneath the surface, unseen.

Sebastian looked so beautiful in the papery low light.

* * *

Head ringing, sleepy and warm in Sebastian's arms, Ciel was nevertheless conscious as he was walked up the small path to the front door and through a mercifully warm corridor.

He was deposited onto a soft, fluffy bed, and he sat up slightly to kick off his loafers and undo his belt. His eyes felt terribly itchy, and he sneezed three times before the task was accomplished.

"Er...Sebastian?" he asked timidly. Patient cherry eyes invited him to continue. "You don't have cats, do you?" Another sneeze, and the back of a wrist wiped inelegantly against a running nose.

"Three."

The teen groaned. "Well, would you please bring me some allergy medicine, then?"

A slightly huffy exhale was the only answer, but the soft clinking of a glass against the side table a moment later indicated that the professor had obliged. Ciel swallowed the two tiny pills next to the water, his eyes still watering and his nose still tingling painfully.

He lay quietly for a moment, assessing his surroundings; by most standards, Sebastian's bedroom was fairly sparse. The bed frame looked antique, perhaps art nouveau, and an armoire in a similar style faced him. The bedclothes were white, made from soft cotton and well-washed linen, the walls a soft grey adorned with gothic prints.

Ciel rubbed his nose irritably, torn between drowsiness and curiosity. _Oh, hell, I'll look around in the morning,_ he thought, allowing himself to sink deeper into the feather pillow beneath him as his eyes slid shut once more.

The ever-active logical part of his mind noted that _in the morning_ was a school day, a Wednesday, with classes beginning at 9 AM with the professor on whose bed he was drowsing.

Though tired and drunk, a part of Ciel's mind remained alert, set on edge by the strangeness of his surroundings, and he could not surrender himself completely to sleep. He turned this way and that for well over an hour, cuddling up against a spare pillow, but he was too curious about where Sebastian had gone and too bewildered at finding himself in the man's bed to let go.

Physical exhaustion weighed heavily upon him as he hauled himself up off the bed and padded to the bedroom door, the greyish hardwood cold against his bare feet.

The small corridor leading to the rest of the house was styled similarly to the master bedroom; to the right lay a spare bedroom, and directly across the hall was a spacious bathroom. The hall was a dead end on the left, a large potted fern sitting squatly in the strange empty space, and beyond the bathroom lay an open living and dining area.

It was there where Ciel found his professor, idly stroking a chubby black cat curled on his lap with one hand and holding a book in another. As a Pavlovian response to the sight of the animal, the student rubbed his nose absentmindedly before stepping out into the room.

"Professor?" he said tiredly, timidly. Sebastian lowered his book, splaying it on the arm of the tufted grey sofa, and the hand on the cat stilled briefly before resuming its gentle caresses. He turned his head and looked up at him over the wire rims of his glasses.

" _Please_ do not call me that here."

"Force of habit. What are you doing?"

A slightly sarcastic smile and a gesture with the open book. "Reading."

Ciel crinkled his nose and set his lips with displeasure, before seating himself primly on the other end of the sofa. "What are you reading, then?"

The man's expression became almost coy as he displayed the cover― _Demons_. "I read it a long time ago, but I thought some new perspective would revitalize it for me." Ciel was sleepy and unimpressed. "I wanted to see what it was you might be getting out of it," Sebastian clarified.

"Hmm. Aren't you tired? It's..." He crawled over to the professor, reaching carefully over the cat watching him distrustfully, and tugging on the chair that held the strange old pocket watch the man favored. "It's past one!" he fussed, extracting the little clock and clicking it open.

"I didn't want to disturb your rest. I thought I should sleep on the sofa tonight, although I do tend to stay up quite late anyway." He lowered his eyelids solicitously and the edges of his lips curled up mischievously. "Or were you wanting some company?"

In fact, Ciel had rather been hoping to persuade him to come to bed, thinking that perhaps he could fall asleep if he had Sebastian as a sort of security blanket in this foreign environment. Having this childish weakness pointed out and mocked, however, set him bristling. "I'm quite tired, and I can't sleep because I don't know where I am. Besides, I want to make sure you didn't wander off and leave me someplace strange where I wouldn't be able to get to class tomorrow."

Sebastian's look was slyly knowing, and he did not respond to the deflection. Ciel spotted his bag and violin piled in an armchair, and, much to his chagrin, beneath a large, fluffy calico. Apparently Sebastian had brought his things in from the car after depositing Ciel in bed.

The younger man made a throaty noise of agreement, resting his chin on arms folded on the arm of the sofa and allowing his eyes to slide closed. The patch was still on, along with his day clothes minus his shoes and belt. "What am I supposed to do when I show up wearing the same clothes tomorrow?" He didn't open his eyes as he spoke.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I wasn't planning for us to waltz into class together in the morning. I thought I would take you to your apartment before I would normally go to my office."

Deep exhaustion blossomed into a faint headache at the thought of waking up early. "What time would that be, then?"

"I usually leave a little before seven."

Ciel groaned at that and abandoned all pretense. "Well, come to bed then, so I can at least get a little bit of sleep before that ungodly hour."

Unseen by the student's closed eyes, Sebastian touched a hand to his chest and smiled. "As you wish." He gently scraped the cat off his lap and swept Ciel up into his arms. Although he was sagging with exhaustion, not even holding his weight in the arms around the older man's neck, he was light and easily carried.

He yawned hugely and wriggled into his customary sleeping position on his side as soon as he landed on the fluffy bed. After a moment, he peeled off his shirt and trousers and slipped off his eyepatch, not bothering with untying the knot that held it. He burrowed into the covers and waited expectantly for his companion.

Soon enough, the bedclothes whispered and the mattress creaked faintly as a heavy weight settled in behind him. Ciel wriggled over to snuggle up against his professor, who wound his arms around him obediently and pulled the teen close, the warmth of his skin filtering in through a soft cotton t-shirt and thin flannel pants.

Through the fog of unconsciousness fast settling in, he mused how funny it was to think of this intimidating, charismatic person in pajamas, rather than his usual sharp attire.

As if this thought had been heard, lips grazed his ear and a whipped-cream voice whispered, "I usually sleep naked." Cold tingles ran down the boy's neck and arm, radiating from the ear blessed with that sinful thought and that sensuous touch.

Despite the luxurious touch of his professor against him, and the sheets that had known every inch of that delicious body, Ciel found himself too tired to really enjoy any of it and he only managed a quiet hum in reply.

A kiss was pressed into his silky hair, soft and sweet.


	9. Chapter 9

Wednesday would prove to be unseasonably warm, almost clammy with the humidity from the damp week hanging in the air and sitting tepidly against the skin.

When Ciel was roused from his professor's bed, however, it was pitch-dark and still cold. His nightmares had been strange and dim, Sebastian and Trancy drifting through the unknown darkness lost to memory. He awoke agitated and angry.

Sebastian favored coffee over tea; though heavily doctored with cream and sugar, it was strong, stronger than Ciel was used to, and he found himself an uncomfortable superposition of jittery and exhausted. He was silent and cranky the whole way back to Oxford, and could only manage a weird, inhuman noise of parting when he was let off near his flat.

It was about a quarter after seven when Ciel let himself back into his flat and immediately crawled back into bed. Not even the strong coffee Sebastian favored could overpower the lulling effect of darkness and warm blankets, and soon he was fast asleep once more.

He felt quite refreshed by 8:30, when the alarm he'd thought to set for himself went off, and he was in a significantly better mood. As he hurriedly dressed and grabbed an apple to eat along the way to class, he was able to marvel on the fact that he'd spent the night with the untouchable Sebastian Michaelis.

Not that they'd done any of the characteristic activities of "spending the night" in the adult world, of course.

He wondered how many others had seen the inside of Sebastian's bedroom, had well and truly spent a night with him. A little flame of jealousy licked at the inside of his ribs before he pushed this thought away.

But Sebastian had held him until he'd fallen asleep, and he could have sworn he'd felt a kiss pressed into his hair as he was drifting off.

And he'd been reading the same book. Until Ciel had seen that, he thought that Sebastian was interested in him for physical reasons, or, at best, his ability to keep up a witty rapport. But it seemed that he saw something else in the younger man. He was dying to know what it was, what might be connecting them, and it made him want to dig deeper into Sebastian.

It was with great reluctance that he lay these thoughts aside as he entered the music building, trying to enter into the meditative state of Ordinary Student. His face was a carefully composed mask of indifference, a facsimile of the casual hauteur he used to wear so easily before this whole strange mess had begun.

Ciel was absorbed in polishing a small smudge from the body of his instrument, using a corner of the cashmere pullover he wore over a soft, worn button-down for the task. He didn't look up when he heard the fluttering raucous of Trancy settling down in his seat, probably hoping that such fanfare would get him some attention. Unfortunately, it seemed that ignoring him didn't work to dissuade the blonde, who moved on from making noise to directly addressing his neighbor.

"Fun night?" he asked. The two words were loaded with implication, and Ciel stiffened for a millisecond before forcing himself to relax and act natural. Really, this was becoming quite tiresome.

"What are you on about?" he replied carelessly, lifting his violin to inspect in for any other stray fingerprints or blemishes that needed eradicating.

"You look like shit." Trancy poked at the puffiness under Ciel's eye, a battle scar from a night of allergen-filled sleep deprivation. His hand was immediately slapped away, but Alois was not deterred. "Were you crying? Did something happen with _Sebastian_?"

Although his gorge rose slightly at the staggering thought of Trancy finding out their secret, Ciel managed to respond coolly. "Don't be an idiot."

"Did he turn you down? Is that why you were crying?"

"Why on earth do you automatically assume I was crying?" It was easier to summon genuine bemused annoyance when Trancy was so far off the mark.

"Or," the blonde's whisper became sharp, cunning. "You were up late last night." Cold, slender fingertips traced the swollen discoloration once more, this time sweeping across in a gentle caress and withdrawing before Ciel had time to react.

"You can't keep touching me all the time," he managed, chilled by the gesture.

Trancy seemed satisfied that he'd rattled him and did not respond, settling back into his chair and turning his attention to his violin. Ciel glared at him for another solid thirty seconds, lips parted to dispense a cutting remark, before turning away and resuming the polishing of his instrument.

His sour disposition was immediately dispelled when Sebastian entered the room, accompanied by the usual hush that settled over the students whenever he was about to speak. He delicately removed his gloves, holding a fingertip between his teeth and pulling each one off.

A weird, itchy tightening crept down Ciel's spine, and he hurriedly shifted his gaze to the music on his stand. The absence of those black nails scraping against his skin or trailing through his hair suddenly seemed a weighty force of its own, like a _camera obscura_ focusing all of his existence into a tiny pinpoint of desire.

Ciel found himself utterly unable to focus on his playing, and his technique was sloppy and distracted. He wanted nothing more than to get out of that room, away from Sebastian and someplace where he could be alone with his thoughts.

Whether for appearance's sake, out of a sadistic sense of humor, or an amazing ability to completely blot out all personal feelings, Sebastian was harshly critical of his soloist's pedestrian performance. Each fumble of fingers or scraping creak was called out and rebuked.

Gone was the usual care and attention to technique, or the dreamy, floaty feeling of being completely absorbed in the emotions of the music; instead, Ciel found himself only attempting to be noticed as little as possible, willing the painful minutes to pass and set him free.

He couldn't understand why he was so suddenly, and so physically, affected by Sebastian's presence; they'd only kissed three times, and hadn't done much more. Even after waking up in the man's arms, he hadn't felt like this.

Of course, he wasn't much of an early riser. The night they'd spent together hadn't _really_ sunk in until he saw him again in the stark light of a reasonable daylight hour.

That closeness that he'd felt, that he craved and wanted more of― all of― seemed to have evaporated in the sun, sticking as heavily against him as the balmy air. He couldn't stand being with Sebastian in this ordinary, public setting; he needed that intimacy and that electric touch.

It was with mingled dread and relief that he packed his things, when Sebastian asked him to stay for a moment after class. Trancy narrowed his eyes and turned his lips up faintly, but swept out of the room without a word. Ciel's playing had been bad enough that he could ostensibly be asked to stay, and Trancy was still well within earshot when, his voice full of paternal concern, Sebastian said, " You seemed especially sloppy and distracted today."

As the room emptied, he went on in this vein. "Now, feel free to come to my office if there's anything I can do, but this cannot continue. Your performance today was unacceptable."

"Sorry, sir. Won't happen again," Ciel grumbled, addressing a sound panel some distance behind his professor's right shoulder.

"See that it doesn't," Sebastian said, and the doors echoed shut behind the last few students to filter out.

A moment of sulky silence passed, and when they were well and truly alone, Ciel aimed a kick at the taller man's shin. "You don't have to be such an arsehole!"

Sebastian looked amused; the kick hadn't been hard, just full of irritation. "I think I have a guess as to what had you so distracted." He cupped his hands around the Ciel's face, pinching his cheek and pulling the grumpy expression into a lopsided smile.

The hand was swatted away after a brief moment of surprise. "No shit." He shook his head, and, with a sigh, his stinging feistiness fell away. "Are you not?" His voice was low and intense, and his eyes were drawn magnetically downward to Sebastian's shoes.

An elegant, gothic hand quickly caressed Ciel's cheek, tilting his face upward so that smoky carmine met abyssal blue. "Meet me tonight. Eight o'clock. At that bar you seem to favor."

Ciel shifted uncomfortably at this. "Actually sir, I was mostly going there to get my mind off of you," he mumbled sheepishly to the floor. "Shut up," he added preemptively, without looking up, his face burning.

Luckily, this prevented him from seeing Sebastian suppress a laugh behind his hand, and when Ciel looked up again, his professor was composed and wearing the same indiscernibly wicked smile that he so often seemed to sport when they were alone. "Someplace else then, perhaps?"

An idea occurred to Ciel. "Actually, there's a small public garden a few blocks away from there. Do you know it?"

"I've never been personally, but I have an excellent sense of direction and I'm sure I could find it."

The younger man nodded, satisfied. "Nine o'clock, then."

With those parting words, he turned and left; instead of heading for the history building, however, he walked back to his apartment. It had been a terribly exhausting morning, and he felt that a nap was well-deserved.

* * *

The garden, although well-landscaped with a meandering, sheltered path, was indeed quite small, and Ciel and Sebastian had little trouble finding each other.

Tucked away from along the path, the small lamps were mostly blocked by the foliage, and moonlight filtered in through the knotty branches of the tree they stood under. Only eyes well-adjusted to the darkness could have spotted them.

"We can't keep doing this." Sebastian's tall, lanky form was stock-still, a deep black shadow that made the surrounding darkness seem washed-out by comparison.

"I'm so fucking sick of hearing that from you." Ciel spat. "Have we not had this exact conversation? Didn't we settle this?"

The shadow's head shook, streams of moonlight beaming down around his head like a shifting halo. "That's not it."

"I'm afraid..." he sighed, raking a hand through his hair.

Ciel had never seen him at a loss for words quite like this, and it churned his stomach and sent sweaty shivers down his back. He stood in silence, waiting. A redwing cried out from somewhere in the trees.

"I can't...be...your..." Sebastian shook his head and sighed again. "Whatever this may be, it's unsustainable. We can sneak around, we could even avoid the very worst kind of trouble if it's just physical...but we don't...have a future."

A leaden sadness fell in slow motion from the back of Ciel's throat, trailing down his chest and settling in his stomach where it ignited into blazing anger.

"Who says I think of you that way?" he said, controlled fury burning the edges of his words smoldering black.

Sebastian was silent as the teen raged on. "Why the fuck would you bring me to your house? Why would you _kiss me good night_?"

To his horror, a hard weight at the back of his throat pushed a prickle of heat from his eyes, and he prayed that his face would be hidden. "Do you...not...like me?"

The black silhouette stepped forward, and the older man's face was brought into the whimpering light. His expression was grave, and tiny lines that Ciel had never seen before were etched around his eyes. "I think we want different things."

"So I'm just misreading everything? I'm totally stupid, and all this was ever about was..." He cleared his throat forcefully and the stinging in his eyes died down. "Why are you doing this now? We never even slept together." The anger that had been briefly eclipsed by hurt and sadness roared back to life. "You're not even going to wait around for the _only thing_ that matters? Or are you afraid I would fall madly in love with you?"

"Please try to understand." Whether it was intended or not, the condescension was maddening.

"Oh, don't fucking start that! What am I even supposed to understand?! You haven't told me anything! _You started all this!_ "

Sebastian's eyes narrowed, and his calm façade seemed to crack. "Tell me then, what is it that _you_ are expecting? Because I can't have you acting like a love-struck puppy _in public_ after a single night together."

In a flash, Ciel had taken three strides forward and struck the professor, a hard, open-handed slap to the face. "Get over yourself." His voice was low and eerily steady.

A brief expression of utter surprise crossed Sebastian's face, before settling into a look of grim distaste. "I need to know what you're expecting."

" _I'm not expecting anything, you psychopath!_ " Ciel exploded. "I've been following _your_ lead! _Forgive me_ for reacting!" He laughed, a wild, bitter sound. "Do you really think that I would just fall for you so easily?" An almost conspiratorial smile crept over his lips, and he met the professor's eye without malice. "Do you really think I'm like everyone else?"

Sebastian shook his head and curved his lips up the tiniest bit, an expression of resigned humor. "I suppose not." The noose of angry tension around them loosened, though a certain sick ugliness still hung in the air, thick and wet as the damp fog.

"So that's why you asked me here, tonight, then? To end things?"

Sebastian nodded. "Yes."

"So what now?"

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't know."

"I'm not in love with you, and I don't want anything from you."

Eyes closed, hand still to his face, Sebastian nodded again.

Haltingly, Ciel stepped forward, faded yellow lamplight and moon and shadow mingling on his skin. "Are you still finished with me?"

"That would be the smart thing to do anyway, wouldn't it?"

"I suppose it would." The words hung in the stillness, and a redwing called from somewhere in the garden. They were both quiet for a long while, each of them seeming to allow their gazes and minds to wander. It was Sebastian who spoke again, unfocused and dreamy.

"'One must be a great man indeed to be able to hold out even against common sense.'"

Ciel smirked. "'Or else a fool,'" he finished.

"A fool indeed," Sebastian muttered.

* * *

The exterior of Sebastian's house was prim, whitewashed and crawling with ivy. The front garden was small but neat and lush; the place looked elegantly haunted.

Ciel paused in the dark foyer as the echoes of the closing door faded behind them, while Sebastian strode inside, removing his jacket and slinging it gracefully over his shoulder as he walked.

The allergy pills Sebastian had given him in the car on the way over hadn't quite kicked in yet and his eyes watered at the cloud of cat hair kicked up as Ciel flopped on the sofa, sprawling himself on it artfully. He picked up the copy of _Demons_ on the small table beside him and thumbed through it disinterestedly.

Ciel was still annoyed by Sebastian's assumption. His private, musing jealousy or his stumbling nervousness were nothing more than embarrassing slip-ups due to his...inexperience with romance. He was uncomfortable in such a situation; it was natural, after what he'd been through. For Sebastian to assume he was _in love_ , or wanting a _boyfriend_ , was intolerably arrogant.

And Sebastian was far from innocent. His constant, flirtatious touches, his unreadable moods, the way he'd pursued Ciel so mercilessly. That first touch had been filled with hot, heavy implication, a predator laying claim to his prey. He was reading the same book.

Why was he so determined to have Ciel, and to push him away?

"You fancy me too, you know," he said mildly, without looking up, as he heard Sebastian's soft footfalls on the plush carpeting leading from the rear of the house to the seating area.

"Yes," Sebastian replied, to Ciel's great surprise, and he looked up.

Having shed his jacket and apparently hung it up, Sebastian was wearing his white collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the large, fluffy calico curled contentedly in his arms.

"Then so what if _I_ fancy _you_?!" he spluttered, a bit thrown off by the honest admission. He scrambled up into a sitting position as Sebastian approached the sofa and seated himself, shifting the purring cat from his arms to his lap and scratching behind its ears as he spoke. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully, aware that he was approaching dangerous territory.

"Listen. It is far less dangerous for me, old and jaded as I am, to fancy someone, than it is for you. Clever as you are, there is still a chance that you will see more meaning and significance than I will." He held up a hand to cut off Ciel's indignant protests. "It's just something that happens. You were right, though; I shouldn't assume you're like anyone else. I shouldn't assume that you would play the game on a lower level than myself." The cat stretched and hopped off Sebastian's lap, and Ciel watched it leave. It seemed like a lot was left unsaid, but Ciel didn't know what.

"Well...I suppose that's that, then." he said a bit uncomfortably, rattled by how the conversation had turned out.

"Not quite," Sebastian's eyes were fierce, and he gripped Ciel's wrist with what felt like excessive force. "You _cannot_ behave like you did today again. Even if you don't have feelings—" Ciel's irritated splutterings of innocence were ignored— "You _will_ get us caught and it _will_ be a problem."

"Won't happen again, _sir._ " Ciel grumbled, wrenching away his wrist and scrunching his legs up toward his chest.

"Don't call me that here," Sebastian said, suddenly quite close and cupping Ciel's chin to tilt his head upward, "unless we're in bed."

Ciel suddenly felt quite thirsty and a cold sweat had broken out under his arms. "Well...if that's the case..." he said, a cold rush of adrenaline sweeping through him at his own boldness.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, teasing inquisitiveness written on his face. _Go on._

"Oh come on, you can't have me calling you 'sir' _and_ giving you orders. Pick one," Ciel said crabbily, unfolding from his curled-up position.

Almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he was swept up into a bridal-style hold by Sebastian and carted off to the bedroom.

* * *

 **A/N. i. The quote "One must be a great man indeed..." is from** _ **Demons.**_ **But you already knew that.**

 **ii. Although I haven't given it much mention, they would have picked up a handful of other pieces to play over the past month or however long it's been. I have them in mind, but after a certain point it gets very dull to read about people playing random orchestral pieces, especially when they have clunky titles like "** **Adagio, For Violin, Strings & Organ In G Minor, T. Mi 26."**


	10. Chapter 10

**It is with great pride that I say, Warning: explicit content.**

* * *

"Put me down!"

Sebastian obliged, sweeping Ciel down neatly onto his feet in the hall by the bedroom.

"And quit doing that all the time," he added waspishly, smoothing over the creases on his shirt, before looking up into Sebastian's face, all business.

"I don't want to have any more of these conversations. I don't care what happens, I don't care how you think I feel. Don't bring it up again." Ciel turned and strode to the bedroom, Sebastian following after a beat.

When he entered, Ciel was perched shyly on the edge of the bed, his rounded posture at odds with the sharpness of his words. He peeked up through a soft navy fringe, and anticipation shimmered in the air.

In a few strides, the distance from the door frame was closed as Sebastian's long fingers curled around Ciel's wrists and the warm weight of his body pressed the pair down into the cloud of downy comforter.

A warm rush surged up, setting Ciel's heart purring in a hard steady beat.

 _More._

A breathy little moan escaped his lips of its own accord as he wriggled his hips upward against the professor, the sweet weight of that body meeting him with delicious friction. His fingers flexed helplessly, his wrists manacled above his head by Sebastian's hands.

Ciel wouldn't have admitted it for anything, but aside from Joshua (which hardly counted, sadness and liquor as disabling as they were) and Sebastian, he had precisely zero experience in this arena. For the better part of his life, he felt he'd had quite enough of sex, and had only wanted to be left alone. He tended to pour his energy into school, violin, and other stiff pursuits. The raw ugliness of sex terrified him a bit.

This, however.

Warm honeysuckle lips, cinnamon and cardamom tongue pressing slowly into him, dazzling sensation along every nerve, fizzling skin against skin.

The wolfish desire to _bite_ rose up, frustrated lust leaking out through more familiar outlets, and Ciel broke the kiss to sink his teeth into the soft whiteness of Sebastian's neck while his hands fumbled Sebastian's shirt open. Sebastian let out the softest, most exquisite little expression of lust, and Ciel's hips canted up forcefully without thought.

As he slid the crisp shirt down off of Sebastian's shoulder's, barely a shade off from the immaculate white cotton, Ciel's lips trailed down, laying sharp, sucking kisses over the professor's neck and shoulders.

"Don't leave any marks," Sebastian murmured, tilting his head to expose an exquisite expanse of skin to further affections.

Roiling lust and sheer contrariness sank Ciel's teeth down hard someplace northeast of Sebastian's left nipple; the neat semicircle of teeth would only be visible to anyone who saw the professor shirtless. This territorial mark was rewarded with a grinding press of erect flesh and the satisfying juxtaposition of power and captive wrists.

Ciel lifted his lips to the professor's earlobe, nipping the tender little pad of flesh and whispering into the soft shell above. "Why am I still wearing a shirt?"

Immediately, he was released, and his hands were drawn almost magnetically to the smooth, hard expanse of Sebastian's back, running up and down and tracing the muscles with wondering fingertips while the professor's skilled fingers nimbly released button after button until Ciel was free of the garment.

Their heartbeats seemed to synchronize as, unimpeded, bare skin met bare skin and careless lips crashed together, tangling hands and flesh.

Sebastian froze as Ciel's small, lovely fingers began to release the button and inch down the zipper of the professor's trousers. His hands were warm and awkward, proud but unsure.

"I'm not going to stop tonight," Sebastian whispered.

"I know."

Soft fingertips played over his hips under the loosened fabric, trailing down over the ridge of his buttocks and raking up over the hard plane of muscled back.

Sebastian's mouth was rough against the younger man's, need and desire heavy on every exhale. Ciel's nerves all seemed to be firing aimlessly, every touch of skin against skin sending a bright spark straight to the ache between his legs. He dug his nails sharply into the curve of Sebastian's back, angry red trails framing the delicate spine.

Ciel let out a whiny little moan as Sebastian pulled away, and the only contact was the tiny press of the button being undone over the swollen flesh beneath. Time seemed to drag, as, tooth by infinitesimal tooth, the zipper was inched down. Parted from Sebastian, the air seemed cold against Ciel's sweat-slicked skin, and his body seemed the throb with the absence of the other.

When, at last, the opening of Ciel's trousers was unfastened, Sebastian brushed his fingertips against the skin underneath, playing over hipbones and the soft fuzz trailing downward from the teen's navel. He lowered his lips to its shallow cup, tracing lazy curlicues upward, when frantic giggling interrupted this sensuous path.

"Stop that," Ciel said, sounding a bit panicky behind his breathy laughter. Sebastian lifted his head, smiling sharply.

"I'm ticklish," he admitted sheepishly, the last of his laughter trailing away.

Sebastian laughed, a small, worldly sound that briefly, jarringly reminded Ciel of their age difference, and pressed his lips to his student's neck. "My mistake," he murmured, the words humming sweetly against Ciel's throat.

Ciel gasped aloud as, all at once, large hands hooked elegantly around his trousers and slid them smoothly downward, while a warm, wet tongue pressed into his ear. He squirmed into the points of contact, all thoughts of his nakedness gone in the face of such overwhelming feeling.

Mindlessly, his hands played around Sebastian's hips, tugging the fabric down a few inches before he gave up in exasperation. "Get rid of those stupid things," he hissed, running his hands hungrily over Sebastian's back and up his sides.

Every move a performance, Sebastian stood and wiggled out of his trousers and underwear, tossing them into an artful heap on the floor. Ciel wanted to be unimpressed, but it was taking a good deal of willpower to keep his hand from drifting downward. As it stood, his erection was throbbing in time with his nervous rabbit's heart, dark blue shades of fear and desire swirling through his mind.

He scootched back on the bed, reclining against the pillows, and the mattress rocked slightly as Sebastian's warm naked body pressed against him. He wound himself into the older man, burying his nose into his shoulder.

"I'm scared," he said, so softly he wasn't sure if Sebastian could even hear him.

A soothing hand was smoothed over his hair and warm lips nuzzled chastely against his cheek. "I won't hurt you."

Ciel's heart pounded up into his throat, a hard, terrified ache that jarred uncomfortably with the hard need between his legs. "Okay."

Their hips rocked, a slow, melancholy beat, as they spoke.

"Do you have...any...er...you know..." Ciel asked, pulling his eyes away from the intoxicating carmine opposite him.

He was now thankful for the gap in their experience; Sebastian peeled himself off of the younger man and briefly fished in a side table drawer, extracting a slim white bottle and a small foil square. He set the latter aside, but untwisted the top of the bottle and set it and the cap on the tabletop. To Ciel, they seemed to be waiting in the spotlight, the lamplight shining on them absurdly.

For the time being, however, they waited in the wings. Fingertips trailed down Ciel's sides, his nerves in overdrive but the contact so brief that he was left with a weird, powerful tingling where he'd been touched, and met with warm lips and a wet mouth at the crux of Ciel's desire.

He literally arched his back at this, his eyes rolling and his jaw growing slack like every fifty-cent description of sex he'd ever read. The tight, pressing heat of tongue and lips bled precum from his aching erection, and he bucked his hips without conscious thought while his hands wound automatically into his lover's dark mane.

Suddenly, a lightning bolt shot through the fog in his mind as something weird and slippery pressed up into him. "What the fuck?!" he cried, though it came out sounding more like "Whuuuhhhnnn."

The soggy fragments of his mind pushed together for a millisecond to register the _something_ as Sebastian's index finger slicked with lube, somehow stealthily pulled from the night table while his attentions were elsewhere. A long press of tongue and a masterful flicker of finger against something inside of him, however, quickly evaporated all thought.

Lightning flowed through Ciel, his nerves dancing and throbbing in time to the secret rhythm of desire. "Slow down...or..." he slurred, the occasional soft press against his prostate and the sure warm tongue around the head of his cock stealing his words.

Something that Ciel could dimly identify as another finger joined the first; though they were sure and skilled, pressing expertly against the spot that blanked out his vision and lolled his tongue, the sharp, long nails kept him grounded enough to wait for more.

The motions of Sebastian's fingers seemed wild and spastic; he'd already found Ciel's g-spot, so why on earth did he feel the need to move his hand so much? It was almost uncomfortable, but the sweet attentions to his member kept Ciel on a blissful even keel.

Just as the feeling of Sebastian's two fingers became comfortable—pleasurable, even—another, slicked with a lube that imparted a softly warming sensation, was added. Ciel's breath caught in his throat as the odd discomfort overrode the delicious joy of Sebastian's lips around him.

The jarring pleasure and pain finally connected the wet, fizzling synapses of Ciel's mind, and he made his best effort to relax. For his part, Sebastian knew exactly what he was doing, and the sensation was more strange than truly painful.

His hands twisted into the sheets and his hips rocked softly, driving himself deeper into Sebastian and vice versa. Dull pain was mixed with pleasure, and it wasn't enough; he wanted it all. His hands scrabbled awkwardly along Sebastian's shoulders and sides, and he tugged upward. He wasn't strong enough to actually drag the man up to him, but the message was clear enough.

He groaned softly when Sebastian's mouth and fingers were disengaged, and he grabbed at him hungrily as he sinuously positioned himself over Ciel. As their eyes met, Sebastian's dark, seductive expression was blanked into a look of tender discomfort.

Ciel reached up to his right eye; apparently, his eyepatch had come off at some point during his throes of pleasure. He groped around the duvet and leaned up to refasten it.

"It's okay, I don't mind," Sebastian murmured, laying soft little kisses along the curve of the teen's neck and shoulder.

"No. I want it on," Ciel said, his voice steady if a bit ragged on the edges. He squirmed his hips impatiently and tied on the patch in a hasty, pathetic knot.

His hands freed, he grabbed Sebastian's face and pressed a blazing, sloppy kiss against his lips. "Do it," he whispered, his heart pounding up into his throat but his eyes meeting Sebastian's steadily.

Sebastian's eyes caught the light and seemed to flash a deep, wicked ruby as he shifted himself up onto his knees and hiked up Ciel's slender white legs.

He couldn't look; he squeezed his eyes shut and tossed his head to the side, burying his nose in the soft downy comforter and bracing himself.

Nothing happened.

"Look at me," Sebastian said.

"Just do it," Ciel moaned.

" _Look at me._ "

He shifted his head just enough so that he could peek out over the blankets from the corner of his eye.

He trailed his eyes over the white curves of their bodies, interrupted only by those sleek black nails curled possessively into his thighs, and gradually lifted his eyes to Sebastian's. Now, they seemed to burn black.

Wordless seconds ticked by as, gradually, looking into those eyes, Ciel lifted his head from the covers and relaxed down, facing Sebastian straight on.

Sebastian nodded to himself, seeming satisfied. At last, he began to press himself, slowly, gently, into Ciel.

It was a slow, aching burn, jarring him out of the swirling black lust that had been consuming him. It seemed to go on forever, until at last, all of Sebastian's considerable length was seated within him. He stayed like that for a moment, allowing the teen a moment to become accustomed to the feeling, before rocking his hips back and pushing in again, a bit faster.

Beads of sweat were starting to glimmer on Ciel's forehead as his body was pushed to accommodate the other man, and his jaw clenched slightly. Sebastian twitched his hips slightly and adjusted his hold on Ciel's legs, and suddenly, as he pushed himself in again, brushed against that magical spot.

" _Oh_ ," was all he could say, his weight sagging slightly into Sebastian's hands. The muscles in his arms stood out in soft relief as he held him easily. He released one of Ciel's legs, which hung awkwardly and canted his hips at an angle, to gently begin to stroke his cock. Ciel was soon, once again, overwhelmingly aroused.

After a second of recalibration to ensure he would be hitting Ciel's g-spot, the pace of Sebastian's hips increased, matched by the steady strokes of his hand.

An almost aching tingle was creeping up Ciel's spine and settling into the back of his skull, the promise of intense orgasm teasingly on the horizon.

"Harder," he begged, grinding his hips upward.

Sebastian slammed into him, keeping a rough, unsteady rhythm, and soon the tightness in his nerves crescendoed and spilled over, blossoming into glowing white pleasure. He shuddered and moaned as he came, almost painfully hard, in Sebastian's hand, barely noticing the last few euphoric thrusts of Sebastian's own orgasm.

He sagged, limp and spent, down into the covers. Sebastian pulled himself away carefully, gently laying Ciel's legs down and extracting himself.

"Good boy," Sebastian said, leaning over and laying a small, sardonic little kiss on his forehead.

"Uhnnn..." Ciel groaned, unmoving.

Sebastian's back was to the bed as he dressed, pulling on underwear and trousers. "The shower is in there." he made an elegant, waving gesture towards the bathroom. "I'm going to get some work done while you do that, and then I can drive you home."

Still lying naked and spread-eagled on the bed, Ciel rotated only his head to glare at Sebastian's lean, muscled back as he shrugged on a button-down. "Drive me home?"

He looked over his shoulder, seeming rather bored. "Doesn't that seem easiest to you?"

"I suppose," he muttered, shifting his gaze back toward the ceiling. After a moment, he swung his legs to the side and sat up, stalking past Sebastian towards the bathroom. He fiddled with the knobs for a moment until suitably hot water was flowing from the showerhead and stepped into the spray.

The post-coital fog in his brain gradually cleared as he stood there, and he picked up a bottle of shampoo. He flicked open the cap and sniffed, a faintly woody, resiny scent. Squirting a drop into his hand and rubbing it mechanically through his hair, Ciel closed his eyes and breathed out a deep sigh.

The warm rivulets curling over his skin and the smell of Sebastian's shampoo made him think, meditatively, of those imagined touches that seemed so long ago. He ran a hand distantly over his arm and shoulder.

Of course he shouldn't sleep here. His allergies, for one thing. For another, it was too risky to try and get Ciel back to school in the morning. They kept different schedules. There was no tea.

Each of these thoughts floated through Ciel's mind, and he observed them at a distance as they drifted by. He wasn't angry, or hurt.

Still, he wanted to stay there, mind adrift, in a warm cloud of Sebastian's scent, forever.

* * *

 **It's rare that I'll post chapters so quickly, and I'm nearly out of stuff to rewrite, so expect updates to slow down in the future.**


	11. Chapter 11

_Alois Trancy was in a strange mood that afternoon. He'd ended up skipping classes that morning—no matter, there was always some moony-eyed idiot he could get the notes from later—and had instead been restlessly flitting between his phone and computer and schoolwork before finally going for a walk through the botanic garden by the river._

 _The bright, clear skies and warm sunshine irritated him. He'd always felt that there was too much pressure to do things on nice days, as if the earth were awake and watching expectantly; and on this day in particular, he couldn't think of one satisfying thing to do._

 _He was bored often enough—that aching, empty disinterest in anything the world could offer—but usually a tumbler of gin, a bowl, and a Tchaikovsky record on his lovingly restored turntable could lift the suffocation. Today, it had just made him feel claustrophobic and agitated._

 _A handful of students were clustered together outside the arched glass walls of the arboretum, chatting easily as they waited for their professor. Alois glared at them and turned back towards a cooler, shadier part of the garden._

 _The place was immaculately maintained, the paths clear and the grass neatly kept despite the ever-increasing payload of fiery leaves dumped to the ground each day. This orderliness satisfied Alois, and, as he walked down a long row of tulips, he mused that it might be nice to work here._

 _He savored this romantic notion, picturing himself spending long, quiet days doing honest work and falling into bed exhausted each night. He imagined himself surrounded by flowers and small, sweet birds. Perhaps he'd start waking up early and drinking a cup of tea while he read the paper._

 _The feeble warmth of this fancy faded quickly. Alois knew by now that there was nothing that would tie up his life in a neat bow, no certainty in his future. He dug a rumpled pack of cigarettes from the front pocket of his black jeans and lit one with a cheap plastic lighter from the other pocket. The hot rush of nicotine flowed into the cold hollow of his chest._

 _The truth was, it bothered him that Phantomhive was hooking up with Michaelis. He was certain they were; the kid had a terrible poker face._

 _It wasn't so much that they were fooling around, Alois reflected, breathing out a stream of smoke and watching, hypnotized, as the sun lit up each particle so that it seemed to sparkle. He took another leisurely drag, holding in the smoke until his lungs ached. It was that he was sure that Phantomhive had dumped out his whole life story, and Michaelis had gotten with him anyway._

 _Phantomhive was always so uptight and stiff; Alois was sure he had never been with anyone before Michaelis, and he was sure that it was because of what had happened back then. He wondered if Michaelis had asked, or if Phantomhive had just told him._

 _Alois had never told, and he'd never been asked. The pale pink splotch edged in lacy white on his lower stomach, spilling over onto his left hip, had received a handful of curious glances, but more often than not, his conquests were too drunk or stoned or seduced to notice or care._

 _He preferred it that way; he wanted to limit the number of people who could run off with his secrets._

 _Still._

 _He flopped down on the cold grass, lying on his back and looking up at the backlit mosaic of yellow and orange leaves, and withdrew another cigarette. He lay there for a few minutes, trying to blow smoke rings and sinking down into the little hollow warmed by his body heat like a rabbit._

 _In this stillness, some of the sharp defenses in his own mind seemed to soften, and he thought about Phantomhive._ If I'd known it was an option, to be broken and loved anyway _, he thought, in a very quiet, distant way,_ would I have done things differently?

 _He blew a perfect smoke ring, a ragged ache rising up in the back of his throat._

* * *

Sodium lamplight glowed in misty halos along the sidewalk below, blotting out any starlight. The faint sounds of traffic bustling and the rushing river (or maybe it was just his imagination) leaked in through the open window where Ciel sat, still fully clothed, his knees tucked up to his chest.

The flat was dark and cold, the damp night spilling in and curling around him, sprawling and comatose. The bedcovers were in utter disarray from a few fruitless hours of tossing and turning, before he'd surrendered and settled in next to the window.

He didn't know what he was looking at, or looking for. The walk below was still and quiet; not a soul had passed through since he'd been keeping his lonely vigil.

Again and again, Sebastian bubbled up to the swampy surface of his thoughts.

 _Aftermath._

Was this what it was like? To...lose your virginity? The expression made Ciel cringe, but it felt somehow appropriate. Something had changed; whether between himself and Sebastian, or purely within him, he couldn't say.

Regardless, he couldn't sleep.

 _Is he thinking about me?_

Ciel doubted it, but a quiet, foolish little part of him was hopeful. It hadn't been nothing; it hadn't meant nothing. Not to either of them, he was certain.

He couldn't put a finger on what was bothering him. He didn't think he'd made a mistake, or—ha!—that he'd _fallen in love_ with someone who didn't love him back. How Sebastian felt about him was his own business.

(It hurt a little to be so unceremoniously kicked out.)

Sebastian's behavior was...contradictory. He'd kiss Ciel goodnight, rub his back, take him to bed instead of finishing things between them; but he'd act bored or distant, and he was keeping something from Ciel. He was sure.

Suddenly, something beneath the window caught his eye. Someone was stumbling along the sidewalk, lilting dangerously. Apparently they'd had too much to drink and were crawling home at this late hour. They disappeared under the sill as they approached the building's front door; privately, Ciel was glad they'd made it home safe.

He continued to stare vacantly at the sidewalk, empty once more, until a series of sharp raps at his door sent him jumping out of his skin.

His heart hammering in its cage, he scrambled out of bed to open the door. His mind raced with possibilities; perhaps it was Francis—maybe something had happened to Lizzy? Or...could it be...?

No such luck. Swaying slightly, solicitous eyes offset by heavy purple bags beneath them, Alois Trancy stood on his threshold.

Ciel's heart was still thumping heavily. "What do you want?"

"I want...you."

"Flattering, but no thanks. Are you alright?" he asked crossly.

Trancy leaned forward, the shadows throwing the angles of his face into sharp relief. His large turquoise eyes were bright and glassy like a doll's. "We walked through the same dark forest," he whispered. "And we came out on opposite sides...one of us in the dark, and one of us in the light..." He trailed off, leaning back and fiddling contemplatively with a lock of that shimmering blonde hair.

 _"What?_ " Ciel cried out in a hoarse whisper. He glanced up and down the dim hallway; Trancy was making no attempt to quiet his voice. Someone might hear.

Before Ciel was forced to make the unpleasant choice to invite Trancy inside, he lurched over the threshold and immediately busied himself looking through Ciel's cabinets.

"Why does he like you?" The question was tossed out casually, Trancy's back to Ciel as he rifled through the pantry. "Oh shit, poundcake!"

Ciel's heart skipped a beat. "What are you talking about? What are you doing here?!"

At last, Trancy turned his gaze to Ciel, and his words were solemn and intense. "Haven't you ever wanted to feel safe?"

Their eyes were locked for a heavy, prickling moment before Ciel looked away. "If you need someplace to crash, you can have the couch," he muttered at last.

Trancy laughed bitterly. "Right."

Ciel hauled in a breath through his nose, pressing his fingertips to his temples. "What do you want."

Trancy hiccuped quietly. "Answer my question."

"What question?"

Alois gave him a meaningful look, as though Ciel were a rather dull primary school child. "Why."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Those turquoise eyes flashed in the dull fluorescent light. "I wouldn't be so quick to shut down conversation with me, _Ciel._ "

Ciel shook his head. "I don't know." He closed his eyes, shaking and shaking his head. "I don't know." He sank into one of the kitchen chairs, resting his head in his hands. "I don't know."

"Did you tell him everything?" Trancy sat in the chair beside him, leaning in, whispering conspiratorially.

"No."

"Don't lie."

" _I didn't!_ " Ciel cried. "Jesus Christ, don't you think I want to _fucking forget?_ You think I want to go through every goddamn detail of my stupid past? I just want it to _go away!_ "

Trancy snorted. "The only way out is through. You'll never get anywhere by running, especially not with _him_."

"What?! What do you mean? Does he know something?" Ciel asked quickly, leaning over the table, gripping its edge tightly.

Trancy gave a soft laugh, and smiled wickedly. Before Ciel could react, Trancy leaned in in gluey slow motion and pressed a kiss to his paralyzed lips.

Before he could stop himself, Ciel was kissing back. He couldn't help it. It even felt a little bit nice, warm pillowy lips pushed up against his own, a warm wet tongue tasting him. He felt seen, known.

A hand plunged into his hair, cradling his head. To his distant, faint horror, he felt himself beginning to harden. He trailed a hand down along the front of Trancy's trousers—no matter, he wouldn't remember any of this―and learned that the other boy was in a similar state.

Which, of course, only made things worse.

Ciel pulled away. "I can't," he whispered. "Sebastian..."

"Ha. I knew it," Trancy said viciously, making Ciel's lungs collapse with anxiety. He rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, I won't tell. But consider this: he doesn't give a shit about you. He's a liar who's covering his own ass."

Ciel grimaced lightly, but didn't argue. Maybe Trancy knew something; maybe he'd reveal it.

Trancy's eyes were searching beacons. "We're the same. I know what you've been through. We can see each other."

Ciel swallowed hard. _This is how the world ends._ "What do you want?"

Trancy looked at him, hard. "Look." He stood from the kitchen chair he'd taken, pulled the edge of his shirt up, the edge of his trousers down.

A shiny scar peeked out, bright gleaming white against pale skin. Ciel stared at it for a second, then met Trancy's eyes. "So?"

"So."

"I'm not showing you mine," Ciel said robotically, his eye fixed on Trancy's exposed scars. His lips were still wet with the other boy.

"You don't need to," Trancy whispered. "You _know_."

Their lips crashed together, Trancy pulling Ciel forward by a hand tangled in his hair.

Once more, Ciel felt that damned response to the sweet warm pressure. Suddenly, the pair lurched upward; Trancy had risen and was pulling him by the wrist toward the bedroom. They collapsed onto the narrow dingy mattress, the cold still seeping onto the bedclothes from the open window.

Ciel was atop Trancy, straddling him. "I can't," he whispered.

"I'll tell you everything," Trancy replied, his voice breathy and his pupils blown wide.

Ciel grabbed his wrists urgently. "So tell me now."

Trancy giggled and closed his eyes. "This is stupid."

"What?!" Ciel cried, leaning back in frustration, still, to his deep shame, somewhat hard. "You started this!"

Trancy pushed him off and rolled over, curling himself into a ball. "You just want to know what I know. You don't love me."

"Of course I don't, you loon! _I can't love anyone!_ " Ciel burst out.

A weighty silence hung in the dark bedroom.

"I see," Trancy's voice was venomous and slow. "Not even _him_?"

"Don't be childish," Ciel said waspishly.

"He doesn't love you. He doesn't even know you." Trancy's voice was strange and faraway, robotic. " _But I do._ I know you. Not like he does."

"What do you mean?" Ciel said quickly. Trancy seemed to be fading, and he wanted to catch whatever information he could.

"Nothing. Everything."

And just like that, he got up and fled.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm gonna try and get a few chapters done so that I'll have more stuff to post and have time to work on Obedience, so the next update might be a while, but then I'll be able to update more regularly. Thank you very much to those who've left reviews; I really do treasure them and your kindness keeps me going.**


	12. Chapter 12

Ciel's bedroom was achingly empty.

He didn't chase after Trancy—after Alois. He just lay there, helpless, numb, wide awake.

His parents, his past. Sebastian, Trancy, his present. He couldn't tell the difference anymore.

Ciel watched as the ugly orange light from the streetlamps faded with the rising sun; he hadn't slept all night.

* * *

The following day was, predictably, awful.

Ciel was rather like a fussy tropical plant, sensitive to any disruptions in his ecosystem. A sleepless night did not suit him well. He was agitated and loopy all day, practically delirious by the time rehearsals rolled around.

Fleetingly, he wondered what Trancy would think, if he could see what a mess he looked, sallow and wan, with heavy bags under his eyes.

He shook this thought off like droplets of water, though he was still gripped by nauseous dread at the prospect of telling Sebastian what had happened. He wasn't sure if he was afraid Sebastian would be angry, or afraid that he wouldn't.

When he entered the rehearsal room, Sebastian, already waiting inside, arched an eyebrow. "Fun night?"

Ciel averted his gaze to the floor, uncomfortably reminded of Trancy. _"Fun night?"_ he'd whispered, poking at Ciel's allergy-swollen face after his first night at Sebastian's.

"I didn't sleep well," Ciel mumbled. _After you kicked me out_.

"Hmm. Well, if you're not going to be able to play, you might as well take the night off." Sebastian said, every inch a professor disappointed in his student.

"I didn't ask for the night off," Ciel snapped. "I'm fine."

He could feel Sebastian's eyes scanning him, like a submarine's floodlights, taking in his sloppy clothes, mussed hair, and pallid skin. "Very good, then. Let's begin."

Ciel's fingers were clumsy, as if frostbitten, as he played through the complicated piece, Sebastian stopping him frequently to correct him. At last, he lowered his instrument in frustration. "Forget it. I can't do this."

He was prepared for the smack of Sebastian's baton against the music stand, followed by a stern reprimand. He was already preparing for the inevitable argument when Sebastian said, "I understand. Go home and rest."

Ciel opened his mouth, closed it. Then, hesitantly: "Sebastian? I...need to talk to you about something."

Sebastian snapped his violin into its case and looked up. "Oh?"

"It's...well, can I stay at your place tonight?"

Sebastian furrowed his brow. "May I ask why?"

"I just...don't feel comfortable at mine right now," Ciel said, frowning softly, as if from within a nightmare.

Sebastian sighed softly, which made Ciel furious. Acting so _put upon_ when he'd started the whole damn thing.

He trailed behind Sebastian, around the front of the building and to his sensible black sedan in the faculty parking lot on the other side. Chivalrous as ever, the older man opened the passenger door for Ciel, before circling around to the driver's side. The lights that came on automatically were harsh, dispelling the shadows of memory that mingled in the dark.

An artist Ciel couldn't place trickled through the speakers. The music seemed cheesy, melodramatic and mocking. The longer it went on, the more it irritated him, and he was prodded from his moody silence. "Could I get something to eat?" He couldn't help his petulant tone.

"Certainly."

 _Gracious as ever_ , Ciel thought bitterly. Sebastian's unshakeable sangfroid made him feel hysterical and difficult by comparison, and his defenses were worn so thin that it was like a rush of oxygen to a roaring fire. He shifted in his seat so that his weight was balanced heavily on one hip and his back was practically facing Sebastian, and he glared out the window.

Sebastian left him to fester for the duration of the ride, and the silence between them stretched unbroken until the front door had opened and shut behind them with a whispery creak.

The two cats Ciel had seen, and a dark grey tabby he hadn't, immediately ran to greet their master, purring and winding about his legs. Reflexively, Ciel rubbed his nose and took a step back from them.

"Please excuse me for a few minutes," Sebastian said, not looking up from the black cat whose face he was caressing as he knelt on the floor.

Ciel snorted and walked back into the bedroom, kicking off his shoes at the door and immediately collapsing into the cloud of bedclothes.

They smelled freshly laundered, and he wiggled over to the pillows and laid his cheek upon one. Warm and comfortable, his immediate problems out of the way, a deadened calm settled over him. He lay things out in his mind, feeling comfortably distant from himself.

Trancy may have been abrasive and gross, but he knew something. And, from the little information Ciel had been able to gather, it was possible he may have still had some contacts. His past tended to strike at him suddenly, like a vicious snake curled in the damp corners of his mind, and when he could, he preferred to leave it there. But, if the other boy had information, it might be worth it to confront the beast.

"What do you think of Alois Trancy?" Ciel asked evenly, his gaze fixed steadily on the wall opposite him as he heard Sebastian's footfalls entering the room and pausing somewhere around the doorframe.

It would be obvious that the question was related to Ciel's strange mood and circumstances, but he knew Sebastian wouldn't press the point. He heard a solid-sounding but quiet _chok_ as Sebastian approached closer and set something on the nightstand. "He is, technically speaking, a very talented violinist, if not a true musician."

Ciel rolled over, then, looking Sebastian unflinchingly in the eye. "So that's your opinion of him?" He spoke like an adult catching a naughty child in a lie.

Standing next to the bed, posture cautious and rigid, Sebastian met his gaze. "I don't know him well enough to say anything more."

The younger man was silent, with that same strange, chastising look. He couldn't explain it, but somehow, he felt like Sebastian was a part of this. The professor seemed to have been a catalyst for everything that was happening, all the old scars suddenly dragged to the surface and this unstable new player in the three-act tragedy of his youth.

Maybe he just wanted someone to drag down with him.

After a long, weighty silence, Sebastian spoke again. "I brought you allergy medicine." The little white pills sat next to the glass of water he'd set on the night table. Languidly, Ciel pulled himself up into a sitting position, taking the pills with a swallow of water.

Everything felt glassy and strange, like his body and voice were acting someone else's direction. And then, suddenly, it shattered, and he flew back into himself. He shook his head briefly, eyes closed, trying to adjust to the jarring transition. Sebastian just stood there silently, watching, his face giving nothing away.

"I need a bath," Ciel said, the little snippy edge returning to his voice. Without asking or waiting for permission, he stood from the bed and swept past Sebastian.

After a few moments fiddling with the knobs, trying to figure out how to adjust the temperature and shut the drain, he set the bath running, and perched on the edge. "What a weird day," he muttered to himself, face in hands that were shoving upward through his hair.

"Indeed," a smiling voice replied.

He looked up; the professor had taken off his shoes and padded into the oyster-tiled room, unnoticed.

Sebastian was no longer handling him with that uncomfortable stiffness he'd been so full of earlier. He seemed more relaxed, with the indiscernible little upturn of lips and slant of eyes that he so often wore around Ciel. He held a fluffy white towel, which he hung on a bar next to the tub, before sitting down next to Ciel.

"Is anything the matter?" he asked again, softly.

Ciel heaved in a huge sigh, tilting his head up towards the ceiling, his hands gripping the tub on either side of his hips, before he exhaled and looked back down toward the floor. "Trancy knows something about my past. He was there."

He'd never seen Sebastian barefoot before. His feet were lovely.

The water splashed into the bathtub behind them, a busy, joyful sound. "He came to my apartment last night, and I'd rather not have another run-in with him," Ciel supplied, as the silence stretched unbroken.

"I see." They were silent for a moment. "Can I get you anything? Tea, perhaps?" Sebastian offered. Ciel heard the minute rumpling of his clothes as he shifted his weight.

"No." He stood, and, turning away from the professor, began to strip off his clothes, tossing his eyepatch off last. As if the other man wasn't in the room at all, he dipped one slim leg after the other into the water and sank into the hot bath.

Sebastian kept his house quite chilly, and the warm water felt like heaven. Ciel's eyes slid shut in contentment, and for the first time in a long while, his mind felt blissfully empty.

He creaked his undamaged lid open when he heard the tap shut off. Its hollow, erratic dripping echoed through the room. It looked like Sebastian had dimmed the lights as well.

"You really missed your calling as a butler," Ciel mused drolly, closing his eyes once more. "Actually, I think I'll take you up on— _mmph_!" Plush lips pressed roughly to his swallowed the end of his sentence, and his eyes flew open in surprise.

Predatory eyes flickering in the low light met his, something ancient and unknowable flashing within them. They stayed like that for a beat, fear and lust congealing in Ciel's heart, before Sebastian's hand wove its way into his damp hair, pulling his mouth up for a deeper kiss.

He couldn't help the stirring deep within him at that rough, possessive clashing of lips. Couldn't help the submissive way he parted his lips to allow Sebastian's hot tongue to explore him; the way he reached up desperately to wind his arms around the other man's neck, awkward as it was with Sebastian kneeling next to the tub.

It was pleasure mixed with pain; the closeness of another person cut through him like a knife, but the deep hollows of his mind were flooded with base desires. He felt utterly torn, falling into the deep chasm that separated fear from lust.

Which was how one hand was pushing weakly against Sebastian's chest, while the other tangled in his hair, and his mouth moved roughly against the professor's.

He pulled Sebastian's hair roughly, and the small, debauched noise the action elicited sent a shudder through Ciel. Faster than could be put to words or pictures, the idea flashed through his mind of taking the professor as he himself had been taken last time.

And suddenly, he was attacking full force, lifting himself partway out of the water to lean closer to Sebastian, dark, heavy possessiveness swirling about him like shadow. _You are_ mine _, and you will think of nothing else._

He pulled hard on Sebastian's hair, tilting his head to expose his throat and the fetching angle of his jaw. Nearly standing, bracing himself on the edge of the tub, he leaned forward, sinking his teeth into that neck. _Mine._

"Phan—Ciel—"

"Shut up," Ciel growled, in a voice he was quite sure he'd never heard, "and undress."

Sebastian didn't move as Ciel stepped onto the tasteful, nubby bathmat, and pulled the towel from the bar above it. "I am not a patient person," he said, drying himself off roughly, his eyes glinty as they slanted downward.

The professor rose, and his face was fox-like in the shadows as he looked down to unbutton his shirt. With his eyelids lowered like that, lashes lush and sensuous, he looked strangely...submissive. It annoyed Ciel; he knew where the true power lay between them.

"Stop acting all innocent," he huffed, undoing Sebastian's trousers while he was working on his shirt. He made sure to brush his hand against the growing hardness beneath them, a light, teasing touch.

"Yet you're acting so bold," he answered dryly, despite the evidence of his interest. At this, Ciel yanked the other man's trousers down roughly, having successfully undone the belt and fastenings that held them.

He was intoxicated with this feeling; this desire to claim, to possess. Ciel sank to his knees, scraping his nails along Sebastian's newly bared thighs, and taking his arousal tentatively into his mouth.

Due to his inexperience, he aired on the side of cautiousness, licking and sucking softly, but as Sebastian remained silent, a wildness reared up within him. He _would_ respond.

Lifting his lips, he sank his teeth into the soft white skin of Sebastian's thigh, while delicately stroking his arousal. He bit down, hard, until at last he heard a rough little exhale.

He stood, stretching to meet Sebastian's lips in a hard kiss. _Don't you dare treat me like everyone else._ He pushed his tongue into the other's mouth sloppily, tracing his lips and tasting him like the exquisite stimulant he was.

Perhaps it was the unexpected and unexplained kiss from Trancy, but Ciel felt suddenly wild. He wanted Sebastian to feel as jealous and possessive as he himself felt.

"Trancy kissed me," he whispered, on tiptoe, into Sebastian's ear, his words conveyed with hot breathlessness.

He couldn't have anticipated the reaction.

The older man grabbed Ciel's hips roughly, picking him up and resting him on the edge of the counter. His hands were rough shackles around his calves, splaying the teen's legs up and out awkwardly, while his tongue caressed his inner thighs, its path falling dangerously close to his entrance.

Ciel was torn between that hot, wet tongue chasing his lust and his own angry need for power and control. Before he could make up his mind, one of his hands had wound its way into Sebastian's hair, and his brain had begun to register the soft warmth of that other body between his knees.

That antsy feeling within him cried out for more. The base part of him took Sebastian's arousal in hand, stroking gently, and pressing its tip against his own entrance. _Do it._

He felt utterly manic, staring up at Sebastian through his own shuttered lashes.

Ciel couldn't have asked for more. The professor looked completely torn, split between his student and lover's well-being and his own lust.

"Maybe we should go to the bedroom," Sebastian murmured, taking his own lust in hand and tracing tight circles against the teen's entrance.

 _Now._

Ciel slid off the counter, as prettily as he could have hoped, and transitioned back down to kneeling as smoothly as possible. His fingernails sank into the unmarked whiteness of Sebastian's arse and back, while his lips circled his arousal once more.

His tongue lay wetly against that pulsing vein, and his lips and teeth provided suckling pleasure and pain that, unchecked, kept the Sebastian teetering quietly on the edge of release.

Every silent second that passed served only to encourage Ciel, and he grew less gentle and careful. He couldn't help it; something about seeing Sebastian this way coaxed out that wild part of him that demanded a response.

"Either come," he breathed, "Or fuck me."

Gratifyingly, these words were met with a closure of eyes and a sharp inhalation, like perhaps Sebastian was restraining himself. For a cold and impossibly deep instant, the professor pulled himself away, then propped Ciel up on the counter, and, slicked with something unseen, that pressure was against him once more.

Ciel curled his hands into claws, pulling Sebastian closer, closer. His breath hitched and his eyes squeezed shut involuntarily as he pulled himself and his destiny together.

Despite whatever Sebastian had applied to himself, it was too much. Ciel gasped out a ragged, ugly cry, and the professor withdrew.

"I won't punish you," he murmured into Ciel's neck as he leaned forward.

He wouldn't admit that he wanted this; pleasure and pain, redemption and damnation. He would push Sebastian to his breaking point, so there was no longer any question.

Taking Sebastian's cock into his hand, Ciel guided it roughly into himself, despite the burning rawness of it. The gratification of seeing the other man's pleasure written across his face was enough.

The unfiltered expression on Sebastian's face as he pressed into Ciel, he thought, was why wars were fought. Why civilizations had been built and destroyed. For in that moment, he'd have done anything to see that look. Far beyond the tight, burning ache of his body struggling to accommodate the other man's.

Soon, however, the wicked fire in Ciel's eyes began to burn a different color, as Sebastian angled himself to hit that wretched weak spot within him. Absolutely unbidden, Ciel's back arched, and a breathy sigh escaped him as Sebastian brushed against his g-spot.

The rhythm of their coupling was nameless and rough, each set of lips uttering a secret prayer unbeknownst to the other.

The undoing, senseless touch of Sebastian's hand was enough. He was utterly possessed, filled with the professor and helpless beneath him. With only a few liquid strokes, Ciel was crying out his release, Sebastian apparently not far behind him; the only indicator was a few loose, aimless thrusts, followed by stillness.

Ciel slid down off the counter, scooping up his neglected towel. "Now I need a shower," he huffed. He busied himself with draining the neglected bathwater, unwilling to admit that he was afraid to look at Sebastian's face.

Soft footsteps told him that the room was his once more. Ciel sat on the edge of the tub again, listening to the water flow down the drain.

He turned on the shower, standing beneath its spray until the water began to grow cold. When it became unbearable, he turned off the tap, and, drying himself off, he dressed in the same clothes he'd worn over.

He couldn't help it: with all his thoughts of his past and of Trancy, he slunk out into the living room. Ciel wrapped himself in a plush throw blanket tossed over the back of the couch, and, with the lights blazing merrily and surrounded by cats, he collapsed onto the couch.


	13. Chapter 13

It was dark when Ciel awoke, as suddenly and as completely as if alarm bells had jolted him awake. He groped around on the nightstand for his phone, clicking a button on the side to check the time: 3:47.

He'd grabbed Sebastian's phone by mistake.

Ciel stole a glance at him; his breathing was slow and even, his black silhouette still. He looked back at the phone.

It was locked, but a text message, in German, was displayed at the top of the screen. It was simple enough that Ciel, who knew only a handful of words picked up from Francis, could understand it.

 _ **Does he know?**_

He frowned, snippets of hypothetical conversations flooding into the hollow of confusion in his mind. A friend from Vienna, perhaps, asking about someone they both knew? There was no reason to think it was about him. No reason to think Sebastian was keeping secrets about him.

It didn't matter, anyway. Why should Sebastian have any kind of grand things to say about him, when he was like a soft autumn breeze through the professor's life. Pleasant, but ephemeral and entirely without substance.

So frequently had Ciel repeated this idea to himself that it felt rather like he was biting into something hard with a sore tooth, the direct, stabbing pain soothing the faraway ache. There was a certain satisfying, ascetic quality to it.

Like he hadn't given more of himself than he ever had to someone, and then they'd closed themselves off. Like this pain Ciel felt was a cleansing fire, burning away anything in him that could be hurt, and when Sebastian left him, he'd be immune forever.

He gently replaced the Sebastian's phone where he'd found it, his own completely forgotten. Ciel lay there uneasily for a moment, his eyes wide open in a caricature of sleeplessness, before he sat up again and climbed out of bed.

He padded into the living room and sat on the couch, his legs curled into the nest of blankets, and leaned his head on the arm rest.

Watery moonlight spilled into the living room, casting everything into grey contrast. Ciel made out a cat curled onto the armchair across the room; it looked like the black one.

Feeling extremely pitiful, he stood and walked across the room, sliding to the floor next to the chair and extending a hand to pet her. She awoke, gazing at him mistrustfully for a moment, but with the gentle attentions to her head and ears, was soon back to dozing, purring softly.

Cats could be quite comforting, Ciel decided, petting her sleek, silky fur absently. If only he weren't allergic, and asthmatic to boot.

Maybe he should go back to sleep; he didn't want to waste the whole day tomorrow napping and miss out on all the homework he'd been neglecting. He went back to the couch, pulling the blanket over himself and tucking an arm under a throw pillow.

No good; though it was soft and comfortable, Sebastian's sofa was still just a sofa, and Ciel's joints and muscles protested every position he attempted to settle down into. He got up and went to the bedroom.

Ciel climbed into the bed, sliding between the covers. From a thousand miles away, he felt the soft warmth of Sebastian's body.

He stared at the opposite wall and did not sleep.

* * *

The next day, during the walk home from classes, Ciel did something he'd done only a handful of times in his life: he called his aunt Francis.

If she was surprised to hear from him, it was well-hidden. He might have been a relatively unimportant client of hers for all the emotion in her voice.

"Hello, Ciel, how are you?"

"Fine," he responded automatically, the politeness his aunt had so strictly enforced now an easy part of his being. "How are you?"

"I'm well, thank you." She didn't ask why he'd called, nor did she initiate conversation; she knew well enough that that hadn't been the reason.

"I was thinking I might like to come home and visit next weekend," he said, as if this were the most ordinary thing in the world for him to want to do. He could practically hear the frown in her voice.

"Next weekend? Isn't winter holiday only a couple months away?"

"Plenty of people come home for a visit during the semester."

Francis snorted. "Right. Well, I suppose I don't have anything I couldn't reschedule going on. Do you need money for a car?" _Because I'm not coming to pick you up_.

"No, I'll be fine." Ciel rarely needed money for anything, thanks to the large inheritance he'd been left with. Francis knew this, and usually only asked him this sort of question to express something else.

"Well then, I'll look forward to seeing you on Friday evening." Neither of them liked to talk on the phone, and Francis took no measures to prolong any conversations held through it.

"Right, see you then."

They said their goodbyes (though both would probably have preferred to just hang up) as Ciel, somewhat tentatively, unlocked the door to his flat. Mercifully, it was deserted, and appeared unmolested.

He pulled the blinds shut and climbed into his bed, opening _Demons_ , an antsy prickling at the back of his scalp.

* * *

The week passed strangely. Perhaps Trancy really didn't remember their strange rendezvous; he seemed like his usual self, all glittering eyes and pinchy fingers. The kiss was not mentioned, and Ciel decided he should put it from his own mind as well. But he couldn't help it when his eyes got stuck on those lips, remembering unbidden that strange feel of them against his own.

He spent little of his time thinking of Sebastian; instead, he felt mostly a sick, nervous energy that he could not place. In class, he felt like a grazing animal, protected by the dumb mass of its herd from a watching beast.

Private lessons were quiet and tense. Maddeningly, Sebastian seemed perfectly at ease and not at all inclined towards physical affections. Perhaps Ciel had really been the one pushing things, or maybe he'd just imagined it all.

Monday and Tuesday dragged by, and it seemed like the weekend arrived after years of restless waiting. Ciel brought nothing with him, knowing his childhood home would still be equipped with anything he might need.

He didn't mention to Sebastian that he'd be gone during the weekend. In fact, he didn't want anyone to know what he'd be up to.

The contents of his father's office had been condensed down to a handful of cardboard boxes that Francis had kept stacked in a corner of her own study before finally relegating them to the creaky old attic.

It was these boxes that Ciel was now rifling through carefully, shining a torch over the stacks of faded manila folders and loose papers.

He didn't expect to find anything especially incriminating or revealing; anything like that would have been destroyed long ago. However, he knew just enough to be able to read between the lines.

Ciel wasn't under any particular illusions about who they'd been. Even as a shattered child, he'd gathered that the plane crash that had killed them was likely no accident; they had enough enemies that no one was sure who or what had caused it, though.

A great deal of their wealth had come in without the knowledge or permission of the British government; they were well-connected; Francis did not approve.

This was where most of his knowledge came from; overheard complaints. _"I hate to speak ill of the dead, but Vince and Rachel knew who they were messing with and they should have been more careful." "I can't believe they kept doing all that illegal shit after they had a baby." "Thank god you know who you know, or you'd both be rotting in prison right now."_

Ciel had asked them about that, in the car on the way home from Aunt Francis's house. "Why are you going to prison?" he'd piped up from the backseat.

"It isn't nice to listen to people when they don't know you're there, honey," his mother had scolded gently.

"No one's going to prison, son," his father had added, with a winning smile in the rearview mirror.

 _An outlaw's smile_ , Ciel thought bitterly, extracting a sheaf of official-looking papers with lots of numbers on them. _You should have been more careful_.

And then, the ultimate prize: a yellow envelope stuffed with photographs. This he set aside, to examine later. He wanted to spend as little time in the attic as possible; aside from the dust and poor lighting, Francis would be quite suspicious if she realized he'd been up here.

Anything in German, he took too, along with anything that looked like a financial or legal record. Clutching the sheaf of documents to his chest, he descended from the attic and slipped into his old bedroom.

He sat in the throne-like leather chair behind his wooden desk and began to pore through the papers.

Something that might have been a lease for a flat in Berlin, dated three years before he was born.

Police report from the crash.

Copies of the plane's documents; bill of sale, insurance, inspection records. Ciel supposed the original documents had been handed over to the police when they'd investigated the crash.

Records from a half dozen Swiss bank account, a few British ones, and (he guessed), one from a German bank.

He hadn't realized his parents had spent so much time in Berlin; he'd known his parents occasionally did business there, and remembered going to visit his father's old friend, "Uncle" Diedrich, a handful of times, but he never knew that they'd lived there.

 _Old Diedrich. Wonder what he's up to._

Lastly, Ciel moved to the envelope. At first, he extracted a photo or two at a time, the images seeming glassy and faraway, but at last he dumped them all out onto the desk. He organized them into a messy stack and moved through it automatically, consuming each image of the dead and the lost.

There they all were; his father's arm around his mother, Ciel cradled in hers. He set the photo aside, something like anger welling up within him. He flipped it onto the desk, face-down. Other family photos received this treatment, with only the briefest of glances.

Visceral terror flooded up to his throat at a photo with his parents, looking much younger, with the man with the ponytail. He too seemed much younger, and softer somehow; his hair was short and neat. But that face was unmistakable.

He almost screamed. _He knew them?!_

Ciel leaned back in his chair, jamming the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw little white bursts. _He knew them. That explains how they found me. Was it him? Or did he just take advantage of their deaths? I can't assume either way._

This was all little better than speculation. He needed to find out more.

 _ **Does he know?**_

 _"But consider this: he doesn't give a shit about you. He's a liar who's covering his own ass."_

 _Could that be why he got involved with me?_ A smaller voice asked amid the turmoil of thought.

He lay still for another moment, leaned back in his chair, hands over his eyes. Then, with a deep breath, he composed himself, sat upright, and began to collect the photos and return them to their envelope.

He turned to the official report on the crash, its envelope and the paper it was typed on seeming newer and crisper than the other documents he'd pulled from the box. With a steely and faraway eye, he skimmed both coroner's reports; official cause of death, trauma due to impact. No autopsy had been performed, the mangled mess of their bodies speaking for itself.

 **Notes: cause of crash likely due to equipment failure leading to sudden loss of altitude and engine failure. 8 bricks of cocaine, each weighing approximately 1 kilogram, was recovered from the cargo hold. No sign of child; presumed dead.**

How had it happened that the police thought he'd been on board, Ciel did not know. He did know that he had been missing, presumed dead, until the next coroner's report; though he was not mentioned in that one, nor did Francis have a copy.

This was the first he'd ever gone out of his way to learn anything about his parents; he'd spent so much of his life trying to get away from all this that he'd never really asked questions, and no one had ever offered up any information. Not wanting to traumatize him any further, he supposed.

But now, he was intoxicated with the hunt into their pasts and his own. How had he let go of this? How had he never wondered, nor known, what went on in the shadows?

His fingertips shook slightly as he flipped the photo of the man with the ponytail back over. Seeing his face filled him with hot disgust, like boiling swamp water.

 _I could find him._

 _I could find him and I could kill him._

* * *

It was difficult to catch Sebastian's attention without attracting anyone else's. The only time Ciel couldn't be seen staring meaningfully at the professor was when he stood ahead of everyone to play his solo piece for "The Lark Ascending," and he was too focused on his playing to be sure he'd gotten the message across.

Luckily, Sebastian was nothing if not perceptive and cunning. Ostensibly approaching the music stand to point out a particular bar, he slipped a little piece of paper onto the stand. Ciel gave him a brief, questioning look, and returned to the music. As he left, he slipped the note into his pocket, reading it only after he was a good distance down the path from the music building.

Sebastian's handwriting was lovely and classical, even in the brevity of what was written.

 **9:00, garden.**

Ciel wasn't sure if he wanted to leave early; on the one hand, the thought of a bourbon to steel his nerves was appealing; on the other hand, he thought he might want to remain as clear-headed as possible.

Agitation won in the end, and as if driven by some internal engine, his feet carried him to the bar around the corner from the garden a full hour ahead of schedule.

He wanted something bitter and sharp, something punishing. He set his lips grimly and ordered an absinthe.

It tasted awful, too awful to nurse, and he downed it in a few quick swallows. He ordered another.

Every sip was like a tonic, burning away the soft and soothing fog that had settled in over his life. His focus on his past and his parents was growing narrow and singular.

What had he been doing with Sebastian anyway? Since when had such base desires become a part of who he was?

Ciel downed the last of the vile green poison; it was time to go.

* * *

He paced uselessly through the garden for a quarter hour, feeling viciously pleased when he startled a young couple who, with resentful glares, departed for someplace more private.

At last, as he completed another frustrated circuit of the garden, the unmistakable silhouette of the professor appeared beneath the willow.

"I need to talk to you," Ciel said in a low voice as he approached. Sebastian's face was, as it so often seemed, in shadow.

"I gathered as much."

The boiling venom in Ciel's veins pushed his words to the surface with ease. "What do you know about my parents?"

Sebastian was so still that he could have been mistaken for a sculpture. "Why do you think I know anything?"

"What did you do in Vienna?" he pressed.

"I played in the Philharmonic."

Ciel let out an impatient growling noise and took a step closer to the other man. The heat of his body pressed in close, and in his agitated fierceness compounded by a slight intoxication, the effect was not lost.

Sebastian paused and shifted slightly, the light falling onto his face. His lips looked soft and inviting. "I have to admire your tenacity. You certainly continue to exceed my expectations."

"Quit wasting time."

A slow smile spread across Sebastian's face, an unholy light filling it and twisting his features into something vicious and inhuman. "Well, isn't the simplest solution usually the correct one?"A/

Ciel recoiled slightly at this startling change. "So you worked with them? Those people who..." he trailed off and cast his eyes down, ashamed at this display of human weakness in the face of that otherworldly coldness.

"Not in so many words. Frankly, they never asked me. I was someone who could make certain _problems_ disappear."

The careful emphasis on _problems_ made it clear what was meant. The word _assassin_ flashed through Ciel's mind. He swallowed drily. "Then who did you work for?"

Sebastian shrugged, the gesture carrying all the callousness towards human life. "For myself."

"But you knew my parents."

"It's possible." The unaffected grace with which Sebastian spoke was chilling, and Ciel got the sense that the other man had finally shown himself, dropping at last his aristocratic mannerisms and warmth. It was unnerving and strangely satisfying.

"Listen." Ciel's voice was flinty, and he drew himself up and looked Sebastian straight in the eye. "I need your help."

An arched brow was the only reply. "With what?"

"First, I need to know what you know. I need you to help me find out what happened.

Second, I need you to teach me how to kill."

* * *

 **TBC**

 **A/N: I went out to some fancy schmancy bar with my friends a couple months ago, and, on a whim, decided to try absinthe. It is truly terrible, and not for the faint of heart.**


	14. Chapter 14

A grave silence stretched out. When Sebastian finally responded, his tone was dry and sardonic. "Shall we start tonight then, or should I pencil you in for later this week?"

Ciel remained firmly silent. Sebastian continued, dropping any pretense of amusement. "What you are asking for is dangerous and stupid. You would be throwing away your future."

"What do you care?"

Sebastian's face seemed to melt back into the shadows. "You are my student, and besides that, I have a certain responsibility for you otherwise. The least I can do is refuse to entertain what you are asking of me."

"Would you drop the act?"

Sebastian was guarded. "Say I indulge you. What then? You singlehandedly take out everyone responsible for your every tragedy, and everyone who might avenge them, until there's no one left? You have no idea what you're asking."

"I don't have to do it alone," Ciel said. "Not if you help me."

"Listen," Sebastian hissed, grabbing Ciel firmly by the shoulders. "I'm not giving up my whole life to help you pursue some revenge fantasy."

Ciel shrugged his hands off. "Then you shouldn't have helped ruin my life," he said venomously.

"It's more complicated than that," Sebastian said.

Ciel looked him hard in the eye, cold and distant as the stars. "Do you know who killed my parents?"

" _No_ ," Sebastian said fervently, without hesitation.

"Do you know who took me, after...?"

Sebastian didn't reply right away. Ciel felt like punching him. " _Answer me."_

"Yes."

A sick weight dropped into Ciel's stomach; he thought he might throw up. "You bastard," he said, his voice low and even. "You _fucking arsehole_."

Sebastian held up a hand, placating. Damage control. Ciel wanted to scream. "You don't understand."

" _Understand?"_ Ciel's voice was like a winter storm, freezing and destructive. "Please, by all means, _enlighten me_."

"Yes, I know the people who took you. But believe me when I say, I had no part in it." Sebastian said.

"You knew exactly what they were going to do to me. I could _fucking kill you_ ," Ciel said in that same low, steady voice.

A chilly wind blew through the garden, sending wispy clouds scudding across the sky. The moon peeked out, pallid and dispassionate.

Sebastian sighed. "I understand you're angry—"

" _Shut up_. Shut the fuck up. This isn't a negotiation."

Perhaps succumbing to the futility of it all, Sebastian didn't argue.

Ciel continued, the edges of his voice still quaking with controlled anger. " _I need you to teach me how to kill_." When Sebastian opened his mouth to protest, Ciel held up a hand, silencing him. "In exchange," he said, his eyes flashing murderously, "I _won't_ have you sent to prison for the rest of your life."

Sebastian's eyes widened in shock briefly before he closed them with a soft laugh. "I'd say that I've covered my tracks well enough, but I don't suppose that's what you meant."

Ciel tilted his head in regal acknowledgement. "Shattered though it may be, the house of Phantomhive is still well-connected in the criminal underworld. It doesn't really matter if you're guilty in a court of law; in the shadows, the _absolute_ truth is good enough." He smiled smugly. "My word is as good as a death sentence."

Sebastian smiled slyly with something like fondness. "I always knew you were a poisonous little snake."

The wind was starting to pick up; against the artificial warmth of alcohol and the hot blood rush of anger, it was a welcome relief. More clouds had gathered in the sky, obscuring the moon once more.

Sebastian's next words were almost lost, drowned out by the rustling of leaves and the eerie moan of the wind. "If I have to throw my life away for anyone, I'm glad it's you."

Ciel didn't know how to respond to that; he wasn't even sure if he was supposed to have heard it. "Thank you," he said stiffly, about 30 seconds too late.

With good grace, Sebastian let the moment slide. He was almost dreamy, lost in nostalgia or something darker. He spoke not to Ciel, but to the inconsistent sky. "I never knew your parents personally, but I knew their names. We had more than a few acquaintances in common, including the men who took you. I'd done a few...odd jobs"—Ciel waved a hand impatiently; he didn't care for euphemisms—"for one of them when I was...ah, I must have been about 24? Back then, he was running a low-level hustle, grabbing runaways and teenage junkies. That was Stefan.

"The underworld brought us together, from time to time. I knew who he was―I knew _what_ he was―but I was young and selfish and I didn't worry about it. I was a handful of incredibly lucky breaks removed from being one of those runaways, and I was too stupid to see it. In a way, I thought...they deserved it."

Ciel's face was impassive, but a prickling disgust roiled beneath the stillness.

Sebastian shook his head and went on, still in that disconnected way. "Then Michael came along.

"I don't know where he came from, but he was...a different breed. He was sharp and resourceful and terrifying, a charismatic outlaw. It seemed like he could twist anyone to his will. He had connections all across the continent, and soon he and his men and Stefan were running a full-scale operation, trafficking in kids from Russia and Eastern Europe.

"He seemed to delight in petty cruelty, in _hurting_. I only worked for him once; it was my personal policy not to ask questions, so I didn't know anything about the target. I just remember him asking me to...make it _slow_." Sebastian pronounced the word with distaste, an insulted artist. "An unprofessional practice that I did not employ, but still. The request stood out in my memory."

Ciel swallowed drily. He was sure Michael was the man with the ponytail, but he didn't want to speak and shatter Sebastian's fragile reverie; it was strange to hear him talk so freely, and at such length. It seemed like so much of Sebastian was hidden away, walled off in thorny secret gardens.

"Michael had been in Vienna for less than three years before he ruled the entire underworld. By then he was moving drugs and weapons in addition to people. It was through him and his men I first heard the name Phantomhive: British smugglers living across the border in Germany, whose operation rivaled Michael's.

"I don't think Michael ever thought of anyone as friend or foe, but rather as help or hindrance. He saw how the Phantomhives could be a help, and he reached out to them. Through the grapevine, so to speak, I sensed that their alliance was an uneasy one. There was no love or trust between them, and they all knew it.

"Together their empire spanned the better part of Europe, and probably extended east as well. The more powerful they became, the deeper the split between them. Again, this is all second- or third-hand, but it seemed like the Phantomhives refused to deal in human lives. Eventually, the Phantomhives agreed to leave Germany and return to London; looking back, I wonder if it wasn't because they'd discovered Rachel was pregnant.

"For a while, no one heard anything about them. It seemed like they'd gone straight. But the underworld has a pull on people. Eventually, it either consumes you or kills you. When I returned to London, the city was theirs, and everybody knew it. It seemed like they were untouchable. And then they were dead."

The words hit Ciel with a vestigial sadness. Every story about his parents had the same unhappy ending, met with the same mix of suppressed grief and panicky repulsion.

 _They're gone, and that's that,_ he thought to himself firmly, stifling his noisy, raw thoughts as if he were smothering them with a pillow. With great effort, he spoke steadily and calmly, breaking the lengthy silence that had stretched out. "So Michael found out, and he took me?"

Sebastian grimaced delicately, as if he'd been asked about an embarrassing secret someone else had spilled. "Some of his men had relocated to London; since the Phantomhives―your parents―wouldn't traffic in humans, the market was wide open."

"So...they killed my parents?" Ciel asked hoarsely. The words felt strange on his tongue; he spoke of his parents so infrequently that it felt like a foreign language.

Sebastian shook his head. "No. They just got lucky when they got a hold of you. And, who knows, maybe someone tipped them off. But, frankly, life for a criminal is easiest when there's a bigger, worse criminal in town. Those men had every incentive to keep the Phantomhives alive."

Stupidly, all he could think of was the age difference between himself and Sebastian. He wondered if Sebastian noticed it, too.

"Michael was in London at the time," Sebastian continued. "I'd turned down a job offer from him; I was trying to dig myself out of the slippery pit I'd so willingly jumped into. There were...rumors. After."

A hot tongue of flame licked the inside of Ciel's ribs. His voice was bitter and hard. "Such as?"

Maddeningly, Sebastian seemed neither to defend himself nor make excuses. "The Phantomhives' _network_ seemed split between the opinion that their child had died in the same 'accident', and that he'd been snapped up by Michael's people. As I say, I was making every effort to disengage. I just...put it out of my mind."

"Thanks for that," Ciel muttered.

Another huge gust of wind swept through the garden, swelling like a crescendo, wailing and rattling the trees theatrically. Leaves drifted down around them, washed out and dull in the halfhearted darkness.

"My parents...chose their fate," Ciel said slowly, with a sureness that did not quite penetrate beneath the surface. "They were living on borrowed time and they knew it."

Naked surprise played across Sebastian's face for a half instant.

Ciel went on, the forced steady hardness in his voice giving way to genuine resolve. "I am alive. And I will fight until I'm not. The people who tortured and humiliated me will feel the weight of their actions." He looked sharply at Sebastian. "I don't care what I'm giving up; I'm living on borrowed time too, in my own way. And I want to use that time to get revenge. For _myself_."

In agreement or in resignation, Sebastian just nodded. A soft drizzle misted down around them, glittering in the dirty orange light of the distant streetlamps. Sparkly dew beaded up on Sebastian's coat and hair; each drop glistened like a crystal, an angelic, otherworldly effect. Ciel wondered if he was drunk.

"You realize, it's been almost nine years," Sebastian said.

Ciel nodded.

"I don't know anyone anymore. They might not even be alive," Sebastian said.

Ciel nodded.

Sebastian sighed, weary and grey as the cold wind. "We would both be better off if you just left the past behind."

"I don't care," Ciel said feverishly.

"Your solo still needs work."

" _I don't care."_

"Then consider this your first lesson: _appearances matter._ I _insist_ you continue your studies, and I _insist_ you perform at the winter concert. And surely," Sebastian said, "You realize by now that I expect _quality_."

Ciel snorted impatiently. "Fine. Add another lesson to our schedule, I suppose."

Sebastian arched an eyebrow.

"Or, whatever. I don't know how all this works," Ciel said, embarrassed and flustered.

"I need time," Sebastian said. "Give me...two weeks."

Ciel extended his hand formally. "Two weeks."

Sebastian shook it.

It started to rain, the fine mist becoming heavy but sparse droplets that pattered softly against the leaves above them. Sebastian arched his brows and looked around, as if he were noticing the weather for the first time.

Ciel turned up the collar of his coat, the wool of which would soon become soaked and heavy. "I suppose we should call it a night, then."

"Indeed." Sebastian turned, making as if to leave the garden. Ciel snatched at his wrist, stopping him in his tracks.

"I'm still mad at you," Ciel hissed.

Sebastian smirked. "And I suppose you want me to make it up to you?"

" _No._ " Ciel's grip tightened, his fingers talons around Sebastian's wrist. His fingernails dug into soft white skin shot through with blue veins. A dull voice at the back of his mind wished he could punch down into those veins and bleed Sebastian dry. "I'm telling you that I haven't made up my mind yet, that you're starting off on a bad foot." He released Sebastian. He hoped it hurt. "So don't disappoint me."

Annoyingly, Sebastian didn't flinch.

Ciel took a steadying breath; he'd rather talk about murder and revenge any day than what came next. "One more thing..." He cast his eyes down. "I need to find out what Trancy knows."

Sebastian was preternaturally still, quiet as a forest about to be ravaged by wildfire.

"By...any means necessary," Ciel said delicately, even though he knew Sebastian had gotten the drift.

"Do as you like," Sebastian said, placid as a black lake.

Ciel glared. "You're not exactly endearing yourself to me."

"Do you want me to stop you?" Sebastian snapped. "Grovel and beg you not to, for the sake of your ego?"

Ciel shrugged in a display of feigned carelessness. "Well, then. Glad we could come to an agreement. Two weeks." With that, he turned and strode toward the garden gate. "Good night," he tossed carelessly over his shoulder, " _professor_."

* * *

Absinthe and adrenaline pulsed through Ciel's veins like toxic sludge. He wondered how Trancy had managed to locate his flat and wished he could pull off a similar trick; he was too agitated and angry to just go home and go to bed.

And, quite frankly, Sebastian's transparent jealousy had turned him on.

An idea struck him: the chances were slim, but, perhaps...

A few strategic internet searches and a car ride later, Ciel was at the same glamorous bar Trancy had dragged him to a lifetime ago: The Earl, as he'd learned it was called.

The place was quiet; Ciel was unsurprised but still a little disheartened to see Trancy was not among the few patrons. He settled himself at the bar, scowling massively, and ordered a glass of red wine. As long as he was out, he figured he might as well drown his sorrows.

 _I am going to get very drunk_ , he decided.

The bartender, rather than the silver-haired woman who'd served him and Trancy, was a tall, dark-haired man with glasses. _Not bad_ , thought Ciel as he drained his glass. He caught the man's attention and ordered another.

An idea struck him. "Hey, there's a blonde kid about my age that I think comes here a lot, Alois Trancy. Do you know him?"

The bartender sounded utterly bored. "Young master Trancy is here most evenings."

Ciel's pulse quickened. "What time?"

The bartender shrugged and turned away; he radiated cold indifference. Ciel huffed irritably and took a large swallow of wine. No matter; it was probably better not to try anything with Trancy tonight, anyway, not at the rate he was going.

His head was spinning and his cheeks were flushed, but his reckless, agitated anger had died down. He could feel himself fumbling his words as he paid the check, but he didn't care and the bartender was as impassive as ever.

He was clambering down awkwardly from the red leather barstool when a familiar voice froze him in his tracks. "Phantomhive?"

Alois Trancy sidled up beside Ciel; he seemed almost grave. "What are you doing here?"

"I was actually just leaving," Ciel said. Without the mad momentum he'd had earlier, he just felt tired and awkward. He just wanted to crawl into bed and possibly never come out.

Trancy shrugged; it was the first time Ciel had ever seen him looking remotely out of his element. "Suit yourself."

With that, he gracefully settled himself onto a barstool and signalled the bartender. "Hennessy, please, Claude."

"That's my drink, too," Ciel blurted.

Trancy turned and raised his eyebrows a fraction of an inch. "Oh?" he said, in a tone that most certainly did not invite further conversation.

"Listen," Ciel said urgently. "I need to talk to you. Meet me somewhere, tomorrow night."

Trancy frowned. "What do need to talk to me about?"

"About...well, about what we talked about _last time_." No matter how uninterested the bartender was in their conversation, he'd rather not be overheard.

"Fine." Trancy looked like he very much wanted to be alone; Ciel noticed that his whole body was turned toward the bartender, Claude.

"Meet me at my place, then, tomorrow night around 9."

"Yes, yes _, fine_ ," Trancy said, the slightest edge of irritation in his voice.

"Er, well, good night, then," Ciel said hastily. Trancy all but ignored him.

Ciel could use that pointless infatuation to his advantage, he thought as he left, the cold night air stinging his warm skin.

The wind had died down and the rain had settled into a sulky wet fog; the streets were empty and hushed. Ciel closed his eyes and savored the silence for a moment. _The calm before the storm_ , he thought, as the car he'd called pulled up to the curb.

They drove away, swallowed up by the dark mist.

* * *

 **A/N: I actually live right near a bar called The Earl. It's quite nice. Also, did you know they spell "curb" like "kerb" in the UK? Isn't that stupid?**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: I'm aliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiive, mothafuckas!**

 **long story. anyways. enjoy.**

Ciel's first thought as he awoke was: _it was just a dream._

The worst of it was, he was partly right.

He'd dreamt that he _had_ been in the plane, dreamt that he'd choked on that same nauseous chemical smoke and felt the weird gutless freefall of disaster.

It had seemed so real, so achingly bright and true, that he wondered if he hadn't perished along with them after all. But as he pulsed back into existence, rubbing his aching eyes and swallowing the cotton filth clogging his throat, he was sure. This weight of being was too awful to be heaven, and too unsure to be the hell he no doubt deserved.

His second thought: _Ah shit, I asked_ Trancy _for help._

His third: _I can do it. I can kill him. I can kill_ them.

* * *

He felt swollen and strange, too large for the wraith of his body; when had those deep bruises carved themselves under his eyes? When had his smile become a sneering curl of the lip? When had he begun to look abundantly, floridly mad?

Everything seemed half deliriously funny, half sickening. Ordinarily, he would have frowned at himself at the mirror, rifled through Francis's medicine cabinet for a half-dozen herbal (or, perhaps, stronger) remedies. This morning, however, he smiled at his deranged reflection. The result was a grimacing stranger opposite him.

The morning was as wet as the night before, an unpleasant yellow light cast over heavy grey clouds that refused to break into the storm they threatened. The effect was both chilly and sweaty; Ciel shivered without his jacket, and found himself nonetheless weighed down by a slick of perspiration.

His dreams long forgotten, he found himself dwelling on matters so mundane they were nearly obscene; he needed to buy staples; he'd seen pomegranates, Lizzie's favourite, in the market, on special; how many different names he'd heard for the pillbug he saw trundling across the path ahead of him, a little regional quirk fossilized in the amber of memory.

It was a luxury to indulge these thoughts. They were the exact sort of thing he used to shove out of his mind, dismissing them as pointless or frivolous. Now, they held an odd sort of sanctity: _my last innocent thoughts_ , he mused, then chased the thought from his mind like an unwelcome vagrant. A reconciliation before the finale; he tried not to see it, but the bell couldn't be un-rung, he supposed.

His feet had taken him to the music building. A laugh nearly bubbled up–no, scraped and clawed its way up–his throat. What a lark it had been, what a foolish flight of fancy, to think he could ever escape who he was. Who he'd always been.

It was midmorning, but Ciel had not woken with any intention of going to class. He cared for that prospect like a wounded stag cares for admiring an especially beautiful sunset. The atmosphere was midnight, darkly magical and stinging with a thousand alien tentacles.

He pushed through the double doors, the low pressure before a storm banging the flimsy tin doors open with an unnecessary force that sent a rattling crash through the echoey old halls. Ordinarily, he might have felt an instinctive flush of embarrassment at such impropriety; but the queer sense of non-being had persisted, and he breezed through, not acknowledging his raucous arrival.

By intuition or something darker, he paced, not restless, but measured and deliberate, like some exotic predator kept in quarters too small, until Sebastian was alone in his office. When the timing was right, the strange internal metrics that were attuned to such storms prickling, Ciel swept into the cramped study.

The part of his brain that was true and untouched as polar ice noted the similarities from his first visit; the musty smell of old carpet and too many books, the busy, overflowing stacks of papers. He'd been so timid then, unwilling or unable to see.

Hadn't he known, then? Hadn't he always known?

And, of course, Trancy figured into these memories. Flirty, aggressive, an angry ally even then.

He glanced around primly, waiting for Sebastian to afford his full attention over those ridiculous spectacles. "You ought to dust in here, and air out the room, as well." His tone was bored, but there was a live electric undercurrent to his words: seeking, testing.

Sebastian looked up; he'd obviously only just settled in, only just begun his work for the afternoon, but Ciel still got the sense he'd interrupted something quite absorbing indeed. "A cleaning crew comes in every other week." His voice was neutral, guarded perhaps.

Ciel made sure he held Sebastian's gaze. "They should do a better job," he said.

Sebastian merely raised an eyebrow, and Ciel felt the familiar maddening urge to throttle him.

A throaty, speckled silence stretched out between them, Sebastian wearing that stupid expression that had probably invited the deepest of secrets from the most fleeting of strangers.

"You weren't in class this morning," Sebastian said evenly, his voice as rich as a dusty old harp somehow in tune after years of disuse.

"Who–are there cameras in here?"

"No."

" _Who in the hell cares about class?"_ Ciel hissed, his words an angry boiling stream.

Sebastian's gaze was hard-edged. "People who care about appearances care," he said evenly.

"Fine," Ciel breathed, snorting like a bull. "Let me apologize, then, for missing class, _professor_. Now, are we done with pointless pleasantries, or shall we continue? Any thoughts on last night's cricket match?"

"Something on your mind, Phantomhive?" Sebastian asked mildly, though his lips twitched.

"If you're telling the truth, and there aren't any cameras, I could throw myself across the desk–which, to reiterate, needs dusting–and strangle you," Ciel mused.

"I never said there weren't cameras."

"At this point, it might not matter."

An almost companiable silence passed between them, flirtation and violence having at some point become synonymous.

"You know why I'm here," Ciel said after a beat, the sick smile faded from his lips.

Sebastian dipped his head gravely. "And _you_ know why I'm chastising you."

Ciel had to refrain from rolling his eyes. "What does it matter? It's just us."

Sebastian fixed him with a cold glare, striking a chilly propriety into Ciel's heart. He shifted, instinctively straightening up. For the first time, he believed that no other student could have seduced this particular professor. He cast his eyes down, a vague shame burning at the back of his eyes like an ache.

He cleared his throat, an almost whimpery sound that he wished he could withdraw the second it had bloomed into existence. "When do we start?" His voice was a little hoarse, the effect low and sexy: an unearned little bit of leverage, or so he hoped.

Sebastian's face was as blank as a roiling waterfall. "I thought you needed…outside help."

A sickly laugh burbled up in Ciel's throat. He had the instinct to perform, to lie: _"oh, it's nothing, it's just sex, no matter, any gardening tips now that winter's approaching?"_ But the laugh was more reflex than true mirth.

Because, the fact was, his stomach _was_ in knots.

The fact was, he _didn't_ know.

And, the more he dwelt on it, teased at it like a toothache, the more he'd come to believe: nor did they. Not entirely; they knew more than they let on, but of this he'd grown certain, in the shallow staticky emptiness: they knew less than he needed.

More than Trancy's past, or Sebastian's coaching, he needed the truth. He felt in some aching vestigial way that what he sought lay between them.

Ciel did not break. He held Sebastian's gaze in the amber light that followed, not indulging what could warmly be called _jealousy_. From within that jagged ugliness crouched somewhere behind his lungs rose another word: _diversion_.

Sebastian hefted in a breath, rolling his eyes from the creaky window behind him to the blazing, tired, bewildered figure ahead. "When." The word was not a question but a surrender.

Ciel's smile was sly and crooked; he did not know it, but it was the exact way his mother had smiled when she'd brokered a particularly shrewd deal with someone who'd done precisely what she'd wanted. They were the wrong colour, but his eyes had even glowed a bit like hers, manic yet oddly sober in their tilt.

An ancient flicker of recognition lit Sebastian's eyes, perhaps without even clicking into the higher levels of awareness.

At last, he let out a sigh; it was breathy and short, a sigh of irritated resignation rather than of acceptance. "Tomorrow night. _After_ private lessons." This last bit pointed, and, if Ciel thought about it, quite proffesorly indeed.

He smirked. "Lovely. I don't suppose the garden will suffice, for our purposes?"

Sebastian smiled a bit cruelly. "Nor will _my place."_ He pronounced the words with the rolling unfamiliarity of someone trying out an unfamiliar bit of slang. He handed Ciel a slip of paper, on which an address had been scrawled in that loopy old-fashioned handwriting.

Although Ciel wished he could have done something a bit grander in response, he only offered his own pressboard smile. "Just as well. I have _plans_ tonight." He let the word _plans_ roll off his tongue with a buttery smoothness that none could misplace.

He'd not been particularly engaged when Ciel had arrived, but Sebastian seemed a thousand miles away as he dismissed him. "Hmmm."

 _Wrong answer,_ thought Ciel, warmly but idly, like a sip of cheap alcohol on a bitter winter's day. He didn't know if he was trying to punish Sebastian, or if he just liked the way he wore jealousy.

Sebastian fixed him with a grim, assessing look. Then, in an abrupt but fluid motion, he rose, turned, and shoved open the tiny window behind his desk. The glass was old and cloudy, but the mechanism was smooth. Ciel pondered this briefly, his brows knitting together, his lips parting to speak, and then burst out laughing as Sebastian extracted something from his desk.

"Is that—are you—" he broke off, howling like a hyena.

Sebastian glared at him and stood, resting his elbow on the open windowsill and lifting the object to his lips. "I quit smoking," he said sourly.

"So you're _vaping?"_ Ciel nearly yelped.

Sebastian exhaled a cool wet cloud. A fresh wave of hysteria washed over Ciel: he noticed that it was raspberry-scented.

"I've never seen you smoke," he tittered, thrusting the heel of his hand hard into his eye, rubbing it in an aggressive and childlike gesture.

"I _hadn't_ smoked, not for years. But I've found myself in an extraordinarily stressful situation," Sebastian said, his words edged with irritation. Ciel was tickled, and thrilled; he suspected Sebastian was very accustomed to being an object of wrath, but that being laughed at was probably an unpleasant and novel situation.

" _Please_ tell me you bought it in a store." Ciel was picturing the brooding, statuesque Sebastian Michaelis in a vape store; in this farcical mental nickelodeon, he gave Sebastian a trench coat and a fedora, which sent him into peals of fresh laughter.

Sebastian stood by the window, looking proper and displeased, the nun-like aura broken by that ridiculous thing. At last, Ciel began to quiet; he felt raw, like he had been possessed by some spirit that had worked his mortal body too hard, not understanding its constraints. He met Sebastian's eye.

"Tell me though," he began, tilting his head, propping it on a loosely curled fist, "would you prefer that I _hadn't_ laughed?" He was emboldened, felt like he'd had a lucky roll that had drawn him up nearly even to Sebastian in whatever absurd board game they were playing.

Sebastian exhaled another cloud of ridiculous fruity steam, and Ciel smiled softly. And Sebastian was smiling a little, too. "I suppose not."

"I'm still angry at you," Ciel said.

Sebastian nodded, almost warmly, like Ciel had just brought up a fond but distant memory.

"This helps," Ciel said.

A long, long silence stretched out. Ciel did not leave.

"I suppose," Sebastian began, then paused for another long stretch. "I am angry at you, too,"

Ciel felt himself go tight. "Are you?"

Sebastian exhaled a particularly magnificent cloud. "It is one thing to give in to the demands of work, such as they are, in…our line of work." Ciel felt a pleased flush at the possessive plural: _our_ work. Sebastian went on, seeming to choose his words carefully, tracing the window's lines deliberately with a fingertip. The sick midmorning sun caught the whiteness of his wrist, lighting the pristine skin there with an unholy glow. Ciel stared, mesmerized.

"It is…another matter, I suppose…to… _inflict_ suffering upon someone…" Sebastian trailed off, seeming, for the first time Ciel could remember, at a loss. All of a sudden, he understood that Sebastian was just a person, with a favourite radio station, who cleaned up dust bunnies and debated between packages of lettuce at the market. _He has feelings_ , Ciel realized, the thought crashing into his mind like a clumsy drunk.

This realization manifested itself in a crooked, slightly mad smile. "Oh, you're jealous," Ciel said, his words sibilant and utterly devoid of kindness. But he felt more stable, anchored to the earth with steel cables when he'd been drifting along wildly.

Sebastian looked at him oddly, as though he were trying to remember how he knew him. "I cannot dismiss the thought of you with someone else," he said at last, blandly, diplomatically. A strategic counter, Ciel supposed.

At last, Ciel felt himself melt a little. "Don't you think I deserve a little power over you?" he heard himself ask.

Sebastian cut his eyes over sharply then, and he set aside the little vape pen he'd been turning over in his hands like a mechanic. "You're joking," he said.

Ciel cocked an eyebrow. "Why would I? You have information about my past that I couldn't get otherwise. You have skills I need to learn. And…" he trailed off, unable to admit the biggest, most obvious thing. How could you explain what it was? How could you explain to your first, when their first had probably been so many conquests ago that it was more concept than memory?

He would die before he attempted to put that uneasy helplessness into words. "And you're my professor," he finished lamely.

Sebastian took this in, his expression like a patient kindergarten teacher listening to an outrageous lie. "Oh?"

Ciel felt his earlier viciousness boil up again, with slashing razor claws.

"Because from where _I'm_ standing," Sebastian mused—no, _pretended_ to muse, with a faux composure that Ciel could spot from a distance like a tacky knockoff handbag, " _You_ could have me sent to prison, or worse, with a crook of your finger. _You_ stand as the true judge, jury, and executioner of my…past." Ciel sensed that Sebastian was withholding something too; the distant glimmer in his eye that seemed to flicker, like the brakes had been slammed on an evocative thought. He didn't press the matter.

Because Sebastian _was_ guilty, a flashing, blinking, wondrous neon-sign guilt, and if Ciel had heard that someone he knew was…doing…what _they'd_ been doing, with someone who knew what Sebastian knew, he would have laughed out loud. Laughed as hard as he had at Sebastian _vaping_ —because who could be blamed for laughing at something so utterly, completely funny? Something perfect, obscene, ridiculous.

Something so unbearable that it becomes laughable.

But when Sebastian said it, even with his clownish prop, it wasn't a bit funny.

Ciel felt like he'd received an electric shock. _Oh no_ , he thought, dimly, weakly. He couldn't meet Sebastian's eye, and he couldn't summon that round-table full voice he'd stormed in with. "So we're even, then," he mumbled. He wondered if they'd ever touch another again, and as soon as the thought came, he knew it was inevitable. They could as soon quit each other as burn themselves to death.

Sebastian was looking out the window, facing away from him. "You have homework tonight," he said, the words a low sulky murmur, the blooming counterpart to Ciel's cowardly, weedy voice.

Ciel strode forward, bold. "Do I?" he pouted, wrapping his arms around Sebastian's waist.

Sebastian's breath hitched. Ciel was suddenly acutely aware of the cold fog pouring in through the winter open window. He was perspiring faintly nonetheless. He was afraid in a deep way, like the instinctive fear of the dark.

"So there _aren't_ cameras in here," he said, his voice low and tempting.

Sebastian was as cold and unyielding as diamond again. "No," he breathed, "not here."

"Soon," Ciel insisted, grabbing hold of Sebastian's black tie near the throat, forcing their eyes to lock.

Sebastian's gaze was a slow burn, the deadly heat of forgotten embers. "No," he repeated.

But he had tipped his hand. Ciel knew.

He raked his claws against the vulnerable hollow where Sebastian's collarbones met in an uncertain point.

Sebastian shoved him then, with a forcefulness like punctuation. " _No._ " His tone was wondering.

Ciel stumbled back, vaguely surprised, though his feet caught under him like a long-ago memorized dance sequence.

He smiled then, a ghastly grimace, tipping his head forward in a burlesque of a subservient nod. "See you tomorrow night, then."

And, as it seemed he so often had, he fled.

* * *

Trancy wasn't going to come.

Ciel checked the clock with restless fervor, certain that he'd simply imagined whatever time he'd last seen. It was 9:45 when he had been through too many adrenaline rushes to count and a wet swollen knock emitted from the wooden door of his flat.

"Coming," his said, his voice a ropy strangled chirp.

He flung the door open with unwarranted force, the flimsy old thing banging against the crumbling plaster walls.

Trancy's poker face seemed weak compared to Sebastian's; Ciel could read the fatigue and confusion off it like tea leaves.

Trancy didn't say anything. He just wore wary confusion like a color, dripping off the angles of his frozen face.

"Er, well, come in," Ciel said. He'd had enough pregnant pauses to last a lifetime, and he had no interest in prolonging one.

With grace enough, Trancy shuffled inside.

"Would you like a drink?" Ciel's voice was smooth, but nervous on some animal plane that was difficult to put to words.

"No." Trancy's brow was furrowed slightly, his sweet lively mouth twisted into a soft pout. "What on earth do you want?" He flopped iinto one of the cheap creaky chairs in the kitchen, fumbling a plastic lighter from one of his snug pockets. He flicked at its sparking mechanism disinterestedly, not bothering to produce a cigarette to match the prop.

Ciel heaved in a breath, then did something he'd done only a few times in his life before the past few months: he told the truth. "Well, _I_ need a drink."

He poured himself a measure of the seasonal whiskey Lizzie had bought him for his birthday last year—it was gimmicky and out of date, bound to taste distinctly awful—and took it down in one dread gulp, flinching not at all.

"I'm not sure how to say this…" he began, more disgusted by the faint glow of truth to his words than by the lies that rolled forth.

Trancy flicked his eyes to the colorful bottle, emblazoned with cheerful snowflakes and fir branches. Ciel caught the movement, and shoved the whiskey over suggestively. Trancy shot his eyes up for an instant, then accepted the drink with a measured swig.

His swallow was precise, like he'd timed himself with some deadly accurate inner clock. His eyes never lost that dull cautious cast, like fog lights in an unusual storm.

Ciel sensed the moment, radioactive, and pressed on. "Just…since, well we…talked…" he said slowly, his pauses half calculated, half rearing nerviness. He took another pull from the nasty, pine-reeking whiskey. "I feel like you know me," he said simply.

His stomach twisted, fast and wild: he wasn't quite lying, and the feeling was exhilarating and sickening.

Another first: Trancy looked shy as a schoolgirl. He seemed bashful and sweet, and Ciel reflected that, had things turned out differently, he could have felt guilty, seeing that face.

As things were: "What are you talking about?" Trancy said, all naked confusion.

Ciel arranged his features into the correct blend: _I'm damaged, come save me._ "I…I've been thinking," he said slowly. He stared into the corner where two walls met the ceiling as he spoke. "I think that we…understand each other." Here, he should have made eye contact, but he couldn't.

"We have an electricity," his voice was low, caught between a whisper and an ugly creak.

"We're magnetic," he whispered, now facing Trancy, now watching two of his fingers tracing the shape of his ear, testing the soft pad of his earlobe between his fingertips.

Trancy was silent, but Ciel saw. Those big turquoise eyes, wide as a sunset, were trained on his lips. A nasty predatory voice in his head intoned: _I've got him._

He leaned forward, sealing their wretched pact. "Tell me," he breathed against Trancy's lips. And he closed the distance between them.

* * *

Ciel, for what felt like one of many times in a very brief period, did something he had never done before: he smoked a cigarette.

Or, at least, he attempted to. Trancy had glanced at him meaningfully, extracting one of the live paper coils from a soft pack. Ciel had nodded and shoved up the window in his room, letting in that same demanding cold from this morning. He'd had a wild urge to laugh as the cold fog crept in.

When Trancy had tilted his wrist forward, smoldering smoke signal between his fingers, his lashes had caught the elemental glow of the streetlights, reflecting filthy gold, and his neck had looked so very vulnerable, and Ciel couldn't say no, couldn't explain himself.

A memory, rooted deep in his muddy mind, bloomed: his mother, coughing delicately, pointedly. His father, smoking a cigarette, a sight that was both familiar and seldom, like birthday cake. The evening calm and warm, a drowsy lulling blue-grey.

Savage, punishing, vindicated, Ciel accepted the cigarette.


End file.
